


Less Evil Shall We Do

by ElegantBookworm



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Forgiveness, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2020-10-10 21:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 35,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20534726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElegantBookworm/pseuds/ElegantBookworm
Summary: A Silmarillion AU- What if Maedhros and Maglor had returned to Valinor to face the Valar's judgement instead of stealing the Silmarils?





	1. Of the Oath's Ending

**Author's Note:**

> So I kinda have an idea for how this will go, but it will mainly follow Maedhros (my fav!) and the Fourth Age

Eönwë’s message lay in his hand as heavy as doom as Maedhros read it once again:

_To Maedhros Fëanorion and Maglor Fëanorion,_

_I reject your demand for the Silmarils. For the many evils you and your kin performed in the name of the accursed Oath you swore, any right or claim you held to the holy jewels is revoked. I tell you know that even if you should reclaim them, they would not tolerate your touch. I was charged by Manwë to return them to the Uttermost West where their light might shine once more in Blessed Valinor; only by his word would I release them to you. There to I am bid to summon you both to return to await the judgement of the Valar._

_ I await your answer._

The parchment curled upon itself and fell to the ground. Maedhros looked up as Maglor entered the tent. His brother saw the parchment and picked it up, his eyes darting back and forth with a frantic speed. He looked up. “This is it then. What hope have we against the Valar in their own land?”

“None.” Maedhros sighed, feeling more weary and grief-sick than he had ever felt before, even more than after the Nirnaeth. “Yet we are still bound.”

Maglor paled. “Maedhros, surely you do not mean to challenge the Powers in their own realm?” When Maedhros did not answer, he went on, “The Oath says nothing about biding our time. If we return to Valinor, who is to say that we will not be forgiven and come into our own peace?”

“And if the Valar do not forgive us and withhold the jewels? We would be beyond all hope of fulfilling our Oath! Who can tell what terrible doom we would bring upon ourselves then?”

Still Maglor persisted. “If Manwë and Varda keep us from the fulfillment of the Oath, would that not render it void and us free?” The pleading in his voice was painful to hear.

Maedhros turned away. “We swore the Oath in the name of Iluvatar, mad as we were. Only He can release us, and how our voice might reach His ears beyond the Circles of the World, I know not.” He shuddered. “We called the Everlasting Darkness upon us if we did not keep our vow Maglor.”

“And is what we will become if we bring war to the halls of the Valar any better than that Maedhros? I have too much blood on my hands! I have no wish to add more!” Maglor’s eyes flashed.

“Nor do I, but what choice have we?”

His brother knelt down beside him. “This choice. I know you are as tired as I am. We have lost all of our family because of the Oath; we have the choice to lose no more.” Seeing the hesitation in his brother’s mind, Maglor loosed his final plea. “If not for ourselves, then for the Peredhel. We have cost them enough.”

Maedhros released a shuddering and ragged breath.

It was hard to ignore the shock on the faces of the Vanyar as they rode into Eönwë’s camp. The both dismounted and raised their arms to show that they bore no weapon. No one moved in the tense silence that had fallen over them like a pall; a guard finally stepped forward, gripping a lance tightly.

“What do you want kinslayers?”

Maglor responded first. “We are here on the summons of Eönwë.”

A Maiar stepped forward, not Eönwë, but one of Nienna’s servants. Maedhros stopped himself from openly showing his astonishment. He had not thought Olorin a warrior. “I will take them Aiglin. See to your people.” Olorin motioned for Maedhros and Maglor to follow him; the hisses and muttered curses from the Vanyar were audible as they passed through the camp. They walked toward the very center of the camp where a great tent of silver stood. The guard stood aside for Olorin, far too well disciplined to stare at the Feänorians who were being led inside. Eönwë was directing the packing of weapons and maps when Olorin announced, “The Sons of Fëanor are here.”

Manwe’s herald looked up, his face emotionless and unreadable. “Thank you Olorin. Would you assist Curumo with the final preparations for our departure?”

As Olorin left, Eönwë walked over to a carven chair with arms like the wings of a great bird and sat. No seat was Brough forth or offered to either of them. “I will not waste time with chatter, nor do I wish to speak pleasantries. What is your answer?”

At that, the weight of what they were about to do became too much for Maglor, who began to weep. It was left to Maedhros then, as it had when they were children an age ago, to speak for them both. The words caught in his throat and he had to force them out. “We will obey Manwë’s summons.”


	2. Of Reunions in Valinor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros awaits the judgement of the Valar and has some heart wrenching reunions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may need tissues for this.
> 
> Amya- one of the Quenya words for "mom". I wanted a less formal, more childish word than "mother"  
Almárië- according to cannon, Maglor was married, but his wife remained in Valinor. Not sure how much she will feature here since the focus will be on Maedhros

The cheers upon the quayside that had been deafening even from inside the ship softened as the Teleri saw the two remaining sons of hated Fëanor disembark onto the docks of Alqualondë. As Eönwë led the victory procession through the city, the crowds fell silent at the sight of Maedhros and Maglor, their hate pressing down upon them like some great and terrible weight to the point that Maedhros was relieved to reach the halls of Ilmarin.

“Cells have been prepared for you to await judgement.” Eönwë announced, motioning for guards to take the brothers. For half a haeartbeat, Maedhros’ mind flashed back to his imprisonment in Thangorodrim, to the dark cell where Morgoth had imprsioned him befogging chaining him to the mountain. Eönwë saw the panic and for the first time, sympathy entered his voice. “The Elder King is not Morgoth. No torment will you find in here, save that which is already within you.”

Maedhros swallowed and nodded, following the guards and Maglor into the halls. The brothers were allowed a swift farewell before being taken to separate cells, bare of any ornament or furniture save a pallet-bed and wash basin, but still a far fairer captivity that what he had endured in Thangorodrim. Food was brought to them, but the guard would not speak to him. Maedhros sat and waited for the summons, watching Arien pass over the world three times before anyone came to see him. The cell door gave a tell-tale creak as it slowly opened, almost as if whoever stood behind it was uncertain. Maedhros turned and saw the copper-haired elf woman standing in the doorway, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“Amya,” his voice broke under an age’s weight of emotion. Nerdanel hurried to her son and wrapped her arms around him, sobbing even as she tried to comfort him.

“Maitimo, oh Maitimo!” Her hands ran over his hair over and over, as if his mother needed to reassure herself that her eldest child was truly there. She lifted his face and Maedhros turned away in shame as her fingers ran over the scars he’d gained on Thangorodrim. “_Melin nin,_ dearest one, you’re here. You’ve returned to me.” She kissed his brow as she had when he was a child, over and over, before resting her chin upon his head.

“Amya forgive me!” Maedhros sobbed, utterly broken. “Please forgive me!”

They sat there for hours, neither willing to let the other go. Nerdanel had witnessed her son’s deeds in the tapestries Miriel wove, had seen his suffering at the hands of Morgoth, the twisting of the amilessë she had given him, and raged at being helpless to save her child. She had wept to see him driven to evils by the Oath he had sworn, to see the child so like her commit such atrocities in the cursed name of the Oath his father had led him to swear. But to have him back…joy mingled with sorrow in Nerdanel’s tears now. Slowly, still wanting to cling to his mother as a child would, Maedhros sat up.

“What of my brothers?” The pain on his mother’s face made his heart twist in anguish at having caused it.

“In the Halls with your father. Though,” she gave a little smile, wiping her eyes, “I am told that Ambarussa may soon be allowed to return.”

The twins. The most innocent, if such could be said, out of all of them. Maedhros still remembered Amrod’s reluctancy to take the Oath and leave their mother. Curufin had turned all his skill into persuading him, but even so, it was clear afterwards that both twins regretted their choice bitterly. To know that they were close to being released… for the first time in centuries, Maedhros felt hope.

“Have you seen Maglor yet?”

Nerdanel nodded. “He is with Almárië. She came to live with me after…” her voice trailed off. Meadhros reached and took her hands in his. His mother smiled. “Whatever you did before, whatever happens next, know that I am proud you returned Maitimo.” They both turned as the cell door opened and Olorin entered.

“Forgive me Lady Nerdanel, but another wishes words with your son. I must ask you to depart for now.”

His mother gave him a final, tight embrace. “Be strong Maitimo. It took courage for you to return, and it will take courage for you to face the Valar.” Nerdanel bent his head down and kissed his brow once more before leaving the cell. The door closed and Maedhros waited, wondering who else would want to speak with him. How many of his perished kin had been released from Mandos? His heart sank when he saw who had come.

“Elwing.” Her name filled him with remorse and dread. “I- I did not expect to see you here.”

She did not move from the door, but stared at him with grey eyes that pierced into his fëa. “I asked the leave of Mandos to come.” Her voice cold and strained. “Eärendil would be here as well, save for the duty the Valar placed upon him.” The unspoken blame in her voice was clear.

Maedhros could feel beads of sweat rolling down his palm. “Elwing, I have no right to ask forgiveness of you, but-”

“But you will anyway?” The slap was sudden and sharp and stinging. “My father and mother! My brothers! Elured and Elurin were children!”

Maedhros hung his head as his eyes filled with tears. “I tried to find them, I would have saved them-”

“You took my sons from me!” Elwing sobbed, the brokenhearted wail of a mother in mourning, “Because of you, Arda will be remade before I see Elros again! I will not see Elrond again until he makes the journey West!”

“You have ever right to hate me. I deserve it.” Maedhros replied, his cheek still sore. “But I am here because of your sons. I came to face judgement because I would have no further harm come to them because of me.”

Elwing seethed. “No judgement the Power might make upon you will ever bring my family back to me. It would have been better that you had died in the battle than come back.”

He cringed. “I wish that I had. I have wished that in every battle I have fought since leaving Arda. Know that my survival is a fair crueler fate than death.”

“Then that is what I wish for you.” her gray eyes glared at him as she spoke, “May the years of your life run long and weigh heavily upon you. May the Sorrow of the Eldar be felt greatest by you, Maedhros Fëanorion.”


	3. Of the Judgement of Maedhros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros hears the Valar's judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful comments and judos! They are honestly the best motivation!
> 
> Ever since I had this idea, this scene has been the difficult part. Precedent says that the Valar would use imprisonment as a punishment for Maedhros and Maglor, but what kind? I'd like to think it would be something that would help them both to heal (and who needs healing more than Maedhros). Even so, I still think that there are some who will feel that the Valar treated them too lightly.  
Enjoy!

Manwë’s summons came within the week. Having brought little back with him from Beleriand and of that allowed to keep less, Nerdanel had brought him new clothes, a tunic of plain undid wool and breeches of the same cloth. Barefoot as he would be before Manwë and the rest of the Valar, he felt cowed. Maedhros rubbed the scarred stump of his; the leather cap he usually wore to conceal it had been taken and was yet to be returned. It was part of his humbling, he had had no doubt. At the hour appointed, the guards took Maedhros from his cell and led him into the great court of Ilmarin, barely a hairsbreadth away from him on either side. Galleries had been erected between the towering silver pillars on either side of the court; they were filled with the Vanyar, Teleri, and Noldor, all solemn and quiet. The Valar sat on thrones before him, giants among the elves; Manwë and Varda at the center. Upon Manwe’s right hand sat the Lords of the Valar: Ulmo, Mandos, Aulë, Oromë, Tulkas, and Lórien. At Varda’s left hand were the Valier: Nienna, Vairë, Yavanna, Vána, Nessa, and Estë. Their power radiated outward, so strong that Maedhro’s eyes stung and watered. He lowered his eyes, but the marble of the floor was polished like mirror sheen and his reflection was not a sight he care to see either. Looking up brought the sight of familiar faces to his right. Fingolfin and Finarfin sat together, along with their sons; Fingon smiled encouragement as Maedhros made his way forward, going to his knees before the thrones of the Valar. Manwë motioned for him to rise.

“You have been summoned to this hall, Maedhros son of Fëanor, to answer for your deeds. You disobeyed my command and left Aman, leading others to do the same.You swore an oath in the name of Eru Iluvatar and called myself and Varda as witnesses. Thrice have you attacked and killed others of the Eldalië, even those of the Noldor. Our judgement must fall upon such actions.”

Fingolfin rose then. “Lord Manwë, by your leave I would speak on behalf of my nephew.”A murmur ran through the crowd at that.

Manwë inclined his head. “I give you leave Ñolofinwë.”

His uncle bowed and turned so that he spoke to the entirety of the Valar. “Alone of my brothers’ sons and followers did he speak against our abandonment at Losgar, nor did he take part in the burning of the ships of the Teleri.”

“Stolen ships!” A voice cried out from the crowd, with a loud grumbling affirming the words. Fingolfin waited until the noise died away before he went on.

“The torment he endured at the hands of Morgoth should count as recompense for that!” He snapped before turning back to the Valar. “After his rescue, Maedhros sought to heal the rift between our houses, which is more than his father ever sought to do. While the Oath drove him to fell deeds, ever has he sought to defeat the dark purposes of the Enemy. I beg you, show mercy to him.”

“We hear your request,” Varda’s voice rang out like bells, “Do any others wish to speak?” When no one spoke, her eyes fell upon Maedhros. “Is there aught you would say to those here?”

He nodded, opened his mouth to speak, and caught sight ofangry stare. The words vanished. It took several breaths before speech returned to him. “Truly, I have no words to express my remorse for my actions, for none exist to describe it,” Maedhros began, “I have no right to ask you for forgiveness or your intercession before Eru Iluvatar, in whose name I foolishly swore the Oath. Of that folly and fell deeds I committed in pursuit of it, I repent and curse.” he swallowed, his knees ready to give way beneath him. “We invoked the Everlasting Darkness upon us should the Oath not be upheld; if that is my fate, I accept it.”

Silence fell upon the hall, a quiet so deep that Maedhros though his very breath echoed in the chamber. The Lord of Waters spoke next.

“Tell me Fëanorion,” Ulmo rumbled, “if the Silmarils were returned to you, what would you do with them?”

His head hung low. ‘I have no right to them any longer Lord Ulmo. Their fate is not mine to decide.”

Nienna leaned forward, her cheeks glistening. “But your Oath is not fulfilled unless they are reclaimed, yes?”

“Yes lady.”

“Foolish is the one who calls upon the name of Eru Iluvatar lightly.” Manwë rose from his throne and motioned to Eönwë. The Maiar brought forth a chest of shining silver and knelt, offering it up to Manwë, who opened it. Gasps of awe filled the hall as the light of the Silmarils shone, save from Maedhros. He took a sharp breath, feeling once again that terrible pull towards the jewels, but he fought it as Manwë held out an empty hand to gesture him forward. “So all might know the folly of invoking the name of Eru Iluvatar lightly, your Oath shall be fulfilled.” He took hold of Maedhros’ hand, placing a Silmaril within it and forcing his fingers to close around the jewel. Pain seared through Maedhros and let a sound that was both a wail and a shriek even as he rebased the Silmaril back into Manwë’s hand. Maedhros pressed his hand to his chest, gasping and sweat soaked upon the floor of the hall. Eönwë helped him to stand as the Valar and the assembled elves rose to their feet.

“Hear the judgement of the Valar, Maedhros Fëanorion!” Mandos’ voice shook him to the bone, as it had all those centuries ago when the Doom had been pronounced. “Your actions have shaped the deeds of an age of Arda, and so for an age you will be confined.” He turned to Nienna, who gave a small nod. “Within the Halls of Nienna will you give such service as she sees fit.” Mandos turned the full force of his gaze upon Maedhros then, and the elf fell back to the floor under its weight. “Should you seek to escape before the appointed time, the wrath of Eru Iluvatar will fall upon you and into the Everlasting Darkness will you be cast.”

Manwë brought him back to his feet this time. “Upon completion of this penance, a new task will be appointed to you so that you might redeem yourself in the eyes of the Edalië. Do you accept this judgment?”

With bowed head and tears running down his face, Maedhros nodded. “I do lord.”

Varda stepped down next to her husband. “Then go. May your fëa find peace.”

The guards came and led him out of the hall to a small side chamber where the Maia Aiwendil tended to his hand.

“In a day or so, start stretching your fingers out.” he ordered. “You’ll still be able to use your hand that way, once it heals.” They both looked up to see Olorin had entered the room.

“I thought you would want to know that your brother’s judgement has been spoken.” The Maia said quietly. “Like you, he will be confined for an age of the world, but here in Ilmarin instead.”

Maedhros slumped forward at that, overcome with sorrow to know how long it would be before he saw Maglor again. Olorin set his hand on Maedhros’ shoulder. “You will be allowed to say farewell before we depart.”

The brothers met in a small courtyard of Ilmarin, under Eönwë and Olorin’s watchful eyes. As his brother approached, Maedhros saw that Maglor’s hand was bandaged as well. They embraced each other tightly.

“We are free Maitimo! The Oath is done!” The joy in Maglor’s voice was palpable, almost overwhelming. It made it all the more painful that Maedhros did not share in it. He tried to hide this, but Maglor sensed it. “What is wrong brother?”

Maedhros shook his head, unable to to put words to what he felt in that moment. Instead, he changed the subject. “Will Almárië stay with you?”

“Yes.” The grin on his face was one that Maedhros hadn’t seen in an age. “She asked leave to do so and Varda granted it.”

“I am happy for you. For you both.”

Eönwë stepped forward. “It is time.”

Word seemed trivial then. For all that Maedhros felt as if he were heading to battle once again, he knew that when their imprisonment was over he would see Maglor again. If both of them noticed that the other embraced more fiercely than usual, both ignored it. Olorin lay a hand on Maedhros’ shoulder once again, this time pulling him away. He gave Maglor one final smile before he turned and began the journey to the Halls of Nienna.


	4. Of the start of the sentence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros encounters someone familiar in the Halls of Mandos and Nienna teaches him the first steps to forgiveness is to forgive yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out I'm kinda vague when dropping possible story hints :P The "some might think the punishment too light" that I mentioned last chapter meant characters in the story, not you wonderful people :) Anway, I'm not sure yet if I will move forward with that idea or not.
> 
> Welcome to the Halls of Nienna! We may be here a while- at least an age (or the next chapter or two). I wanted to play around with the idea that Nienna provides a sort of catharsis to Maedhros. What I see as part of the greater crime of Fëanor and Co. is not so much that they disobeyed the Valar and killed other elves, but that they led their followers to commit those actions as well. It's a breaking of the feudal relationship between a lord and warrior- the warrior would obey his lord, but the lord was not supposed to have the warrior break their own honor/commit evil. That's just my two bits worth.  
I'll try to have another chapter out before Wednesday, but I've got some essay grading that I have to get to first.  
As always, your comments and kudos are fantastic and greatly appreciated!  
Enjoy the chapter!

Maedhros sat within a dim alcove, watching the Maiar of Nienna tend to the fëar who came to seek the Lady’s succor. The gray calm and quiet that filled the many colonnades of the hall still unsettled him after centuries of clamor and battle. As more fëar entered the hall, his his mid wandered back to his arrival in this place. Olorin had led him westward towards the walls of Arda, where Nienna’s domain lay half-hidden in the gray mist that surrounded it. The Maia, however, did not make for there. Instead, he turned to the north, where the entrance to the Halls of Mandos lay. Maedhros stopped, fearing that he was about to be tricked. “Why are you taking me there?”

“Lord Nämo wishes to see you first.” When Maedhros remained unmoving, the Maia gave him a gentle shove. The Doomsman was waiting for them at the gates, a hooded specter in the mists that roiled around them.

Sweat beaded along Maedhros’ spine as he bowed low. “Lord Mandos.”

Olorin bowed as well, though far less deeply. “My lord.”

“Wait here for us Olorin.” Mandos commanded. “I will return him to you when I am done.”

They made their way down into the Halls in silence, the air growing more chill the deeper they went. The path they walked was as smooth as riverstone and wide enough that ten elves could have walked abreast of one another. At first, Maedhros thought that the walls of the cavern glistened with water or stone, but then shapes began to take form upon the rock, growing larger and more intricate the further in they went.

“They are the Tapestries of Vairë, the woven record of Arda.” Mandos said when he saw what the elf was looking at. They entered a great cavern next, with columns of black obsidian that towered over even Mandos. Figures moved in and around the columns, wandering it seemed without purpose or end. Maedhros could see clearly the faces of some, though colorless and gray. Elves, Men, even some Dwarves. Some sat or stood on the rim of a great fountain, speaking to one another though Maedhros could hear no sound. Other figures were more obscure, as if a fine veil covered them, and still others were little more than shapeless mists.

“What are they?” He whispered.

“They are the Waiting Ones, the fëar of those who have not yet been released.” Mandos’ voice was emotionless. “Those who’s faces you clearly see are close to leaving my halls. Those without faces have longer to remain.” He turned down one long corridor that was lined with door made of obsidian and iron.

They stopped before a door and Mandos gestured towards it as a portion of the door turned to glass. “Look within.”

The fëa within the cell was one of the featureless shades, but Maedhros could feel the rage that burned from it even from the other side of the door. It was proud and defiantly arrogant, and in pain so terrible that he could not look at it long. Even so, it was long enough for him to feel the familiarity of it.

“Who is in here?” He whispered, though the answer was already stabbing into his heart.

Mandos looked down at him and then at the door. “Your father.”

Maedhros set his hand upon the door. Almost immediately, his father’s fëa turned. There was a warm heat against his hand and Maedhros knew that Fëanor knew he stood on the other side.

_Nelyo?_ His father’s voice sounded in his mind, the shock it held bringing tears to Maedhros' eyes.

_I’m here ada. I’m here._

Memory faded as the hair on his arms stood on end. Maedhros turned to see the glee-cloaked figure of Nienna standing next to him and dropped to his knees. “Lady Nienna.”

She sat on the bench he had been occupying, motioning for Maedhros to do the same when he remained standing. “Three months have you been within my Halls Maedhros Fëanorion, and yet you have not come to me to seek my counsel.” Her gaze was penetrating, even through her tears.

“There are far more deserving of your care here than I lady.” Maedhros said quietly and looked away, only for Nienna to catch his chin with her finger and turn his head back.

“Do not presume or think you judge rightly the needs of of here. All who dwell in my halls are my care, including you.” He voice was like wind rustling through willow leaves, calm and gentle. “If you would truly repent and find forgiveness for your deeds, then first you must find healing in the grief you feel for what you have done.” She set her hand upon the stump of his wrist, as if the hand were still there. "I can tell there is much on your mind. Would you relieve some of your troubles to me?”

Maedhros felt his eyes pulled towards hers and in the tears he saw there was knowledge that she saw his pain and grieved for him. His shoulders began to tremor even as a soothing warmth came over him. Maedhros’ head bowed as he began to weep. “I don’t know where to begin.”

Her touch was more gentle than even his mother’s. “Then start at the beginning. Start at Alqualondë.”


	5. Of Maedhros in the Halls of Nienna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros encounters a ghost from his past and Oromë agrees to help Nienna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, what a week!  
It turns out I REALLY need to preview before I post. A little extra was included on the last chapter that shouldn't have been there; if anyone was confused, I apologize, but it is fixed now!  
Thank you to everyone for your patience! It took me a little longer than I expected to get this chapter written, but I'm still on track to be able to update at least weekly.
> 
> *Warnings* TW for blood/gore/torture at the beginning of the chapter, as well as PTSD. If anyone in the Silmarillion has it, it would be Maedhros. 
> 
> PS- be on the look out for a little Fellowship Easter egg

The severed heads of his warriors were tied by their hair to the orcs spears, knocking against each other with grotesque sound that sent fury as well as bile rising within Maedhros. One still had a bit of bright blue ribbon woven into its ragged braid. Bronwë. It had to be. His wife had given it to him as a remembrance before the Noldor had left Aman. What would she have to remember him by? Maedhros couldn’t bear to look at their faces, the faces of those whom he had lead to such a wretched end. Instead, he turned his attention once more to the vain effort of escaping his bonds. The chains sent an unearthly cold into him as the orcs jabbed and shoved at Maedhros to move him forward. Their claws tore at him, pull at his hair, striking him with greased fists as they neared the shadow of their master’s throne. The three Silmarils glinted from Morgoth’s crown, the sight of them taunting him with their nearness. Knives sawed and hacked at his hair, the blades nicking his scalp when the orcs cut too close.  
“I fear you are still too proud Nelyafinwë.” Morgoth’s voice echoed throughout the shadows. The orcs had come at him with whips after that, thongs with bit of ragged iron woven into them that tore strips of flesh from him. Maedhros’ screams mingled with Morgoth’s laughter. 

The screams pierced through the calm, sending the fëar Rainë was tending fleeing to hide as she ran to the chamber that had been given to the son of Fëanor. Rainë flew to the door and saw the rigid way Maedhros lay, unmoving even though agony was carved onto his face . “Fetch Olorin and Lady Nienna!” She went to his side and sought for his mind to wake him, but he was locked into the nightmare’s prison. Nienna was there in half and thought, knelt by Maedhros and placed her hands on his brow.  
“Awaken!”  
His eyes flew open, tears spilling from them to rival Nienna’s weeping. It took Maedhros the space of several heartbeats for the last tendrils of his dream to fade so he could recognize where he was. The memory of his torment in Thangorodrim came rushing back. “Where-” his eyes cast about until they found the watcher pitcher, mercifully near-empty. What little food Maedhros had eaten splattered into the pitcher; a coolness rested upon his neck, and he looked up to see Nienna held a damp cloth to his skin.  
“Forgive me lady.” He muttered weakly.  
“Becalm yourself Maitimo. There’s been no harm.” She offered him a cup, though the pitcher had vanished. “It has been some time since you have had dreams such as these?”  
Maedhros nodded, taking a sip of the cold water. “Thirty years.”  
A tear fell onto his hand. “I am sorry. I cannot take away those dreams, but I will stand guard so that they will not return while your rest.”  
He would have refused, but the nightmares always left Maedhros weary, more so now than ever before. She began to sing softly, a song of rest and peace and calm. When sleep returned, he wasn’t sure, but Nienna was gone when the faint light of the dawn woke him in the morning. Olorin came for him shortly after he dressed.  
“Lady Nienna has set you to assisting me today.”  
For the past decade of his confinement, Maedhros had been set to simply listening to the counsel Nienna offered or to menial work, such as drawing water from the fountains which Olorin and the other Maiar gave to the fëar to soothe their hurts. Both were solitary tasks meant, he thought, to enable reflection. Or at least provide him with something else to focus his mind upon. There had been many days at first when Maedhros preferred the latter. For a new task to be given now made him wonder if the events of the night might have prompted it. “Doing what?”  
“Serving water to the fëar.” Olorin saw the elf wince. “What is it?”  
“I’m not sure I would be of much comfort to them.”  
Olorin nodded and walked further into the room. “Oft times simply listening to them gives the fëar comfort. It is not always their sadness they speak of; some are angry and wish redress of their hurts.”  
The reasoning was clear enough to Maedhros now. “And if I caused those hurts, I should mend them.” The Maia gave a small nod. Maedhros rubbed at his wrist. “Lead on then.”  
They went to the open-air courtyard where the fëar waited to see Nienna, misty gray shapes that faded into the gray walls. Rainë handed them each a pitcher and both Maiar were suddenly gone before Maedhros could ask where he was to go. He made his way towards a fëa who sat apart and alone from the the rest.  
“Would you drink of the water’s of Nienna?”  
The fëa turned, revealing an elf near to being released from Mandos. Maedhros nearly dropped the pitcher, catching it on his leg just in time. “Bronwë.”  
“My king,” Bronwë seemed almost as astonished as he was, “What are you doing here?”  
Maedhros hung his head and set the pitcher onto the ground so that it did not fall again because of the sudden tremor in his hand. Bronwë stared at him, a gasp escaping from him when he saw his lord’s missing hand. “What befell you sire?”  
“The evil of Morgoth, Bronwë,” came the quiet answer, “and I am no king.” Not wanting to speak of the torment and the centuries that had followed his captain’s death, Maedhros turned his question upon him. “An age has passed since you died. Why do you remain here?”  
Bronwë looked away from him. “The guilt I feel for what I did again the Teleri still weighs heavy upon me, but more so in that Hesareth will have naught to do with me.”  
The news stung like a slap, bringing back the memories Maedhros had of the love he had witnessed between Bronwë and his wife. There had been well-meant teasing, a joke made among the warriors that Bronwë and Hesareth meant to match Fëanor and Nerdanel in the number of children they had. They’d had only one when the Noldor had left. “For what cause Bronwë?”  
“For the kinslaying and for Losgar. She had kin who died on the Helcaraxë.”  
Maedhros sunk down onto the bench beside Bronwë, horrified to be part of the cause of this terrible sundering. “We took no part in the burning Bronwë.” He offered it as a sop, but the fëa shook his head.  
“She cares not my lord. It is enough for her to know that I killed others of the Eldar.”  
“I am sorry Bronwë. I am sorry that I led you to such a fate.” Maedhros wished more than anything in that moment that he could take his captain’s hand, but a hröa could not touch a fëa. “As loyal a warrior and as true a friend as you should never have been brought to such an end. If there is aught I can do-”  
Bronwë looked at him, his features clearer it seemed to him. “Could you send word to Hesareth? Tell her that I want her to be happy. Tell her I will stay in Mandos if that would make her so.” Tears streamed down Maedhros’ face and he nodded. A calm peace settled across Bronwë’s face. “I will wait for Lady Nienna.”  
It was a farewell. Maedhros rose from the bench, leaving the pitcher and ignoring Rainë’s calling to him to wait. Nienna found him that evening, sitting alone in the gardens, lost in thought and memory. Maedhros scrambled to his feet, rather clumsily for one of the Eldar, as soon as he saw her.  
“How can I mend the ills I’ve inflicted when doing so will not bring comfort to either wronged?”  
“Because it is not always comfort that is needed,” Nienna replied, “Iluvatar gave all the gift of freewill, of choice. With choice comes consequence, whether good or bad. Bronwë chose to follow you, as you chose to follow your father.” She set a hand upon his shoulder. “What Bronwë asked of you will bring him and Hesareth comfort of a kind.”  
Maedhros pulled his hair back as he held in tears. “But not what either of them deserve.”  
Nienna nodded. “Many who live are granted far beyond what they deserve and many are granted far less.” Her voice was as sorrowful as always, but there was hope in it as well. “All we have to decide is what to do with what we are given.” Her eyes fixed not him then. “I have given thought to how best to help you fight against the memory of your torment. I will not always be there to bring you from the dreams.” Something shifted behind Nienna, making the hem of her cloak move. “I spoke to Oromë, and while he did not think you much of a hunter, neither apparently is this little one.” A small black head peeked out from behind Nienna at that. The hound was small, barely reaching his knees where he sat, all black silky fur save for a white patch upon her chest. “The issue was explained to her and she has agreed to help.”  
The hound timidly walked up to him and nudged his hand so that it ended up on top of her head. “I am Gwileth.” Maedhros smiled at the thought of the great hunter of the Valar naming one of his hounds “butterfly”. Gwileth’s voice was young, barely out of puppyhood.  
“A little of my power was set in her,” Nienna explained, “so she will know what to do when the dreams return.”  
Maedhros gave Gwileth’s ear a gentle scratch, which sent the hound pressing her weight comfortably into his leg. “Thank you lady-” he looked up, but Nienna was gone.  
“She does that.” Gwileth announced. “Lord Oromë told me so. I was to tell you from him that I am to bite you if you behave half as stupidly as your brother did.”  
The memory of Huan and Celegorm made Maedhros wince. “There’s little chance of that.”


	6. Of the Death of Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros meets with Elros one final time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not completely happy with this chapter. It may get tweaked at some point in the future, but we'll see. I will confess that Gwileth is entirely based on my own dog- I couldn't resist including her in a fic!
> 
> From this point, I have two ideas for where to take the story and I'd like your input- I'll eventually do both ideas, but leave a comment with which one you'd like to see first.
> 
> Option A: Maedhros in the Third Age. This sees Maedhros sent to Middle Earth with the Istari and is basically a what-if fic of LOTR. Maedhros will be very involved in key events.
> 
> Option B: Maehdros is sent back at the start of the Fourth Age and assists the newly crowned King Elessar- a LOTR sequel.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think! :)

A little over five and a half centuries of his sentence had passed when Olorin came to fetch Maedhros.  
“A fëa has requested to see you. Lady Nienna set him to wait in the fountain court. You are to assist me Gwileth.” He added as the hound started bounding away.  
Maedhros thanked the Maia and left him to deal with Gwileth’s grumbled arguments, frowning a little at the question of who could possibly wish to see him now. Many of elves who did had done so already, and the few men he had known had long since gone beyond the confines of the world. As Olorin had said, the fuel was waiting in the fountain court, its back to him as Maedhros approached; as he drew nearer, it turned. The fëa was that of a man, aged with many winters, yet not feebled into decreptency. He was familiar, but Maedhros could not place where he knew this man from until an impish grin stretched across his wrinkled face.  
“I don’t think you would have any trouble telling us apart now.” The man teased.  
“Elros?” Maedhros stared agape at the Peredhil, his throat tightening with grief that the day he knew was coming had arrived. “Why have you come here?”  
Elros smiled. “To see you. I wanted to say goodbye; you and Maglor never did.”  
“It was go then or never.” Maedhros replied, thinking back to when they’d answered the Valar’s summons.  
“I know. I don’t begrudge you for it. You seem more at peace than when I knew you.”  
There was truth in that, though Maedhros did not wish to speak of it. “Tell of your life then young one. How was it?”  
Elros sat upon the lip of the fountain and hours passed as he recounted the start of his kingdom, his marriage, his children, and all of the sorrows and joys that had passed since the War of Wrath. With a contented sigh, his fëa sat back. “It was a full life. I don’t know that anyone could have asked for better. I had a wife’s love, sons I taught, and a daughter I spoiled. Quite a few grandchildren too.” He looked at Maedhros. “You may be here for an age, but there will be life beyond the Halls of Nienna. I hope you take part in it once you are released.”  
Maedhros chuckled. “Has your great age made you so wise that you would speak to me thus Peredhil? I’m still older than you.”  
The mischievous glint from his childhood entered Elros’ eyes. “Yes, but not nearly as good looking.”  
That set Maedhros into a roaring fit of laughter. “Of all the things you could have learned from me,” he started, wiping his eyes, “it had to be my humor.”  
“There were many other things I learned as well. I wouldn’t have been half as good a king if you hadn’t taught me.”  
His words caught Maedhros off guard. “Elros, I was no king, nor an example-”  
“You taught me no leader is without error, that it takes humility more than strength at arms to rule. The lessons I learned at your knee will last long in the people of Numenor, mayhaps beyond them even.”  
From off in the distance, it seemed to them both that a great bell rang, though all else in the world was still. Without looking in its direction, Maedhros knew the tolling came from Mandos. Elros sighed, the contented weariness of one at the end of a good journey.  
“I must return. Death has granted a little foreknowledge to me, and I have a boon to ask of you.”  
Maedhros sadly smiled. “Of course. You have but to ask Peredhil.”  
Elros returned the same smile. “When you go back, would you take a message to Elrond for me? Tell him hope will come into his house before the end. And tell him we will meet again.” For some time after Elros’s fëa has left, Maedhros remained where he was; Gwileth found him still sitting at the fountain as dusk fell. The hound set her head upon his knee, her tail gently wagging against the ground with a soft thwump-swush. She thought at first about asking him if he was alright, but even a mortal dog would have known Maedhros wasn’t. He scratched her ear, but neither of them spoke.  
“I never gave the fate of Men much thought until this day.” Maedhros looked up at the stars, at bright light of Eärendil crossing the sky before Tilion. It was not lost on him the part he had played in the Mariner’s fate to sail the skies eternally. “How do go on not knowing what comes after?”  
Gwileth head titled in the hound’s version of a shrug. “Perhaps that’s their great strength. None but Iluvatar knows that truth Maedhros.” She pawed at him. “You need to eat.”  
“I ate yesterday.”  
“And you need to eat today.” A gentle nip brought his attention down to her. “Remember what the Lady said. You have to feed the hröa to feed the fëa.”  
Maedhros followed Gwileth back to his room where the simple meal had been laid, but grief for Elros made the food tasteless. When he laid down to sleep that night, Gwileth jumped into the bed without a word, laying against his back as she did on the nights when he woke from nightmares. In the morning Maedhros sought Nienna after she returned from visiting the fëar held fast in Mandos. Though he could not put it to words, she knew the source of his grief.  
“Come.”  
Nienna brought him to an inner chamber that he had not seen before. Its only roof was the sky, still shining with shades of rose and gold as Arien set forth in the east of Arda. The walls were of some strange stone that shone with a pearl-like sheen, the floor made up entirely of small smooth pebbles of the same stone. When the sun’s rays touched the stone, it filled the room with soft light. Nienna walked to the center of the room where the strangest table Maedhros had ever seen stood. As long at he was tall, it was made of a mirror’s silverglass; Nienna’s fingertips brushed against its surface and the images reflected upon it began to shift.  
“I cannot bring Elros back,” the Valar began, “and there are still long centuries until your sentence is complete. If it would comfort you to to see the good he was able to plant in his life come to fruit, you may use this mirror.”  
So began the Watch of Maedhros. After his tasks aiding Nienna’s Maiar with the fëar were completed, he would make his way to the mirror-table and spend hours watching the world within. In the centuries that followed the death of Elros Tar-Minyatur, the eldest son of Fëanor observed the rise of the kingdom of Numenor. He watched as they built great ships that sailed east, establishing outposts and colonies along the coasts of Eriador and Rhovanion, saw the remnants of the Noldor build havens in Lindon and Eregion. But even as life went on in Middle Earth, it seemed to Maedhros that a shadow was gathering.


	7. Of the Release of Maedhros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros is released from Nienna's halls, reunites with his grandfather, and is appointed a task by Manwë and Varda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Option A it is!  
I know that Gil Galad's parentage is kinda up in the air, but I decided to go with what's published in the Sil for cannon.
> 
> Much as I love Nienna, I'm glad to moving the story onwards!
> 
> Quick note on Mahtan's creation- Copper is known for its ability to conduct electricity. Nerve signals in the body are just that, so I figured a master craftsman and servant of Aulë could probably have found some way of creating a conduit that would allow for what he makes :)

Word came from Middle Earth on an afternoon as beautiful as any Maedhros had ever known; even the gray calm of Nienna’s halls seemed brighter, though the day had dawned red as blood.

Maehdros was sitting in the garden, carving a small figure in mallorn wood and flicking the shavings to Gwileth. As he came to a difficult knot in the stave, he set the knife down, turning the half-carved figure between his knees before he braced it once more against his right wrist. His skill at the art had never been the same since Thangorodrim, but centuries of practice had helped him radapt it. Footsteps brought both Maedhros and Gwileth’s heads up as Olorin walked towards them. “Good morning!” Maedhros greeted, shaving off another piece of wood.

“Maedhros, there’s news from Eriador,” Olorin began, his eyes flicking to the carving knife. “You should put that down.”

Perturbed, Maedhros did, driving the blade into the earth. “Olorin, what is it? What’s wrong?” Even the ridge of fur on Gwileth’s back stood on end.

Olorin’s face was tight, his eyes grim. “Ost-in-Edhil has fallen. Celebrimbor is dead.”

“How?” When Olorin did not answer, Maedhros spoke again, this time with a cold edge in his voice. “How?”

Without elf or maia noticing, Gwileth took the carving knife and hid it before returning to Maedhros side. It was well she did; when Olorin told him of what Sauron had done to his nephew’s corpse, Maedhros’ hand sought for it. Without speaking, he got to his feet and ran to Nienna.

“Lady please, I must go to the Halls of Mandos!”

“To what purpose Maedhros? It will not bring your nephew back, nor will his release be the quicker for it.”

He new the truth of her words, but that did not make it easier to hear. Instead, Maedhros went to the mirror-table and turned his eyes upon the war-marred lands of Eriador. One by one, the nine kings Sauron had given his accursed rings to fell to his power. The seven dwarves rings gave him hope at first, but two were soon recovered by the Dark Lord. Only the three rings Tylpe had forged alone remained free of Sauron’s hand. It was a new agony for Maedhros to watch Sauron’s poison spread and be unable to fight it. When it reached even to the shores of Numenor and corrupted Ar-Pharazon, he stopped looking into Nienna’s mirror table, knowing the end of Elros’ realm had come. But when the day came for him to be released from his imprisonment, Eonwë told Maedhros of the Last Alliance that had brought Sauron to his knees. The cost had been high; Maehdros had wept to learn that Fingon’s son, the last king of the Noldor, had been among those killed.

“Is he destroyed then?”

“No. Weaknened terribly, little more than a shadow of malice, but shadows can grow.” Eonwë paused. “Mahtan has offered to take you into his house. No doubt your mother is already waiting for you and Maglor there. Leave this for now and rejoice in your freedom.”

His grandfather was waiting for him at Nienna’s gate. Mahtan and Maedhros embraced tightly.

“It’s good to see you Maitimo.” Mahtan’s voice still sounded gruff as the north wind and as genre as summer. “Come along Cintawë.”

Tears pricked at the corner of Maehdros’ eyes to hear his grandfather’s name for him. It had been centuries since he was shorter than Mahtan, but to be called “small one” by him once more, brought back feelings of safety and belonging that Maedhros had not known for some time.

Maehdros set his foot against the stone hearth as his grandfather tightened and adjusted the brace on his wrist, wincing as the straps rubbed against old scars.

“Nearly done,” Mahtan mumbled, a turning bolt held between his teeth. “Amras, hand me that wire.”

“I’m Amrod grandfather.” He passed the wire regardless as Maedhros stifled a grin.

Mahtan arched an eyebrow at one of his youngest grandsons. Clearly, two ages had not made it easier for him to tell the twins apart. “I may as well go back to calling you both Ambarussa.” He set the wire in its place, tightened it, and sat back. “There. How does it feel?”

Maedhros turned his arm this way and that, trying to adjust to the new weight. Of all the false hands he had worn, this was far superior to them all. His grandfather had used his beloved copper to form a hand that looked as if it had merely been dipped into the metal; every joint and sinew was there. As Maedhros moved his arm, the hand moved as naturally as it would have if it had been real.

His grandfather watched for a moment. “Try straightening the fingers.” The Maedhros looked up at him in surprise, he nodded. Maedhros turned back to the hand and for the first time in nearly two ages, straightened the fingers of his right hand. The room was completely silent save for the ragged gasps Maedhros made.

“It won’t be as limber as your real hand was,” his grandfather said apologetically, “and I wouldn’t wear it constantly, but bow, shield, or sword it will hold.”

Maedhros threw his arms around his grandfather, not caring if he got his tunic wet. “Thank you grandfather.”

Mahtan grunted a reply. “Now, the two of you get this cleaned up.”

The summons to appear before Manwë and Varda arrived a few weeks after. Nerdanel had fussed over the appearance of her eldest son, straightening Maedhros’ tunic hem and smoothing his hair as she had done when he was a child; just as then, Maedhros didn’t dare protest. Unlike the judgement, he was not brought into the court of Ilmarin, nor were all of the Valar assembled. Instead, Maedhros was escorted into a smaller, more private chamber, where only Manwë and Varda were present. The King and Queen of Valinor were not displaying their full power as they had been that day either.Maedhros bowed before them and then sat on the low chair Manwë gestured for him to take.

“Welcome Maedhros.” Varda said in voice that reminded him of warm summer nights. “As decreed when you were sentenced, you would be given a task to redeem yourselves in the eyes of the Eldar. That time has come.”

Manwë sat forward in his simple wooden chair. “I will not lie to you and say that your task is equal in difficulty to that which we will give to Maglor, for it is far greater in terms of hardship that it will bring. For that reason,I give you the choice of refusing it without shame or censure. Should you wish another, we will grant it, but both Nienna and my heart tell me you will agree to this.”

There was a dreadful sense of intrigue to his words. “What is the task lord?”

“Sauron still threatens Middle Earth, and the Free People struggle in their fight against him. We will be sending several Maiar to guide and aide Men and those of the Eldar still there, but first we would send you as herald.”

“Me?” There was no hiding the shock in Maedhros’ voice.

“You.” Varda replied. “Of all your family, you were the one most driven to fight and frustrate the designs of the Enemy. This task would allow you to do that once more.” She hesitated, a sadness coming over her face. Manwë looked at his queen before turning back to Maedhros.

“You should know this as well before you decide. Iluvatar has banned any elf from sailing to Middle Earth, save for this once. Should you go, know that you will not depart Middle Earth until the last ship sails, except that death brings your first to Mandos.”

Maedhros blanched. “How long would that be?” Both Manwë and Varda shook their heads, the answer unknown or unwilled to be given. The task felt like a banishment, and he feared that almost as much as he desired to take vengeance of a kind on Sauron. The memories of all that he had witnessed in Nienna’s mirror came to him. He was a warrior and he wanted to fight. More than that though, Maedhros wanted to do some good. In his life so far, the legacy of most of his deeds had been dark and shameful. If by this task it were possible to leave a memory of him upon Arda that was good, then it was worth any cost of sacrifice.

“You have time to decide upon your answer.” Manwë offered, but Maedhros shook his head.

“There is no need lord.” he said, his voice quiet but firm. Maedhros rose to his feet and bowed once more. “I will go.”


	8. Of the Departure from Valinor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros prepares to leave Aman once more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, what a last couple of weeks! Thank you all for your patience :) Enjoy the chapter and please leave a comment or a kuddo!

It had taken some time for Nerdanel to come to terms with Maedhros’ decision; his brothers were less vocal than their mother, but their faces showed that they echoed her sentiments.

“It isn’t fair.” Amras argued one evening. The brothers were sitting in Mahtan’s solar, a flagon of wine passing back and forth. Gwileth let out a contented sigh and Maedhros reached down to scratch her head. “You served out your sentence already. Middle Earth hasn’t exactly treated out family well.”

Maglor filled his goblet again. “And the Eldar are fading Maedhros. You won’t have the same strength as you did in Beleriand.”

Maedhros drained the wine left in his goblet and held it out to Maglor. “I know that. The task will be harder, but I need to do this. There are few still in Middle Earth who fought against Sauron, and none of them know his ways as well as I.” His brothers suddenly became fascinated by their wine. “What I saw in Nienna’s mirror, in some ways we, I, am responsible for their happening.”

Amrod gripped his arm. “Even so, we would not be parted from you again Maitimo. Especially for so long.”

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “Nor do I want to leave you little brother.”

Amras suddenly got to his feet and stormed out of the room; Amrod looked to Maedhros and Maglor before he followed after his twin. As Gwileth settled back to the floor, Maglor turned to Maedhros. “As impetuous as the others could be, I think we forgot Amras too has a temper when he is upset.”

Maedhros smiled and took a drink. “At least he never tried to kill the princess he’d kidnapped.”

Maglor snorted at that. “Tell me truthfully Maedhros. Why are you doing this?” He held up a hand, “Save your argument that only you know how to fight Sauron. I know that isn’t all of it.”

“Some of it is revenge.” He admitted after a few silent moments had passed. Maedhros stared at the deep purple-red of the wine. “What he did to Tyelpe…” his throat tightened. “Curufin and I might have had our differences, but his son was blameless in them. I would bring whatever hurt is in my power to give upon his murderer.”

“And the rest?”

“Elrond is still there, and Elros’ descendants who remained faithful. I would help them how I can.”

“The son of Elwing and Eärendil?” Both of them turned to see their mother standing in the doorway. Maedhros felt the instinctive impulse to hide his wine and saw Maglor discreetly move infant of the flagon and glasses. Both it seemed remembered their mother’s fury when she had caught them secretly drinking stolen wine one night in their childhoods. “You know he has just married.”

Maglor and Maedhros stood there blinking in shock. “But he’s too young!” Maglor protested, mentally counting years, “He’s only…”

“He’s an adult Maglor.” Maedhros said with a dry laugh. “Just because time didn’t pass fr us within our confinements doesn’t mean the same is true for those outside Aman.” He turned to their mother. “Who to Amya?”

Nerdanel smiled. “If this is what age feels like to man, it is a funny thing. Little Artanis’ daughter. Pour me a glass of the wine you are hiding Maglor.”

Maglor did, and the three of them settled back into chairs and conversation. Amrod and Amras eventually returned, sitting on either side of their mother. She put an arm around each twin, drawing them close to her. “My boys.” Her eyes locked with Maedhros and he felt her voice in her mind. _No matter where this road takes you_, c_ome back to me Maitimo._

Maedhros tested steel in his grandfather’s workroom, searching for a piece with the right weight as Mahtan waited to turn it into a sword. He hefted one and then another before selecting one with its steel rippling like waves.

“Good choice.” Mahtan said with approval. They both turned at the sound of footsteps coming up behind them, and Maedhros nearly dropped the steel in his shock.

“Your pardon, Lord Mahtan,” Elwing said, “But I would speak with your grandson.”

Mahtan glanced from Elwing to his grandson’s panicked face before giving a small nod. As he left, he leaned close to Maedhros. “I’ll be nearby. Touch my mind if you need me.” Mahtan looked back at Elwing. “There’s a chair just there if you would like to sit.”

Maedhros wiped his hand on his tunic as she went over to the chair his grandfather had mentioned. “What would you have of me Elwing?”

She didn’t answer for a long time. “A favor, though I do not expect you to agree to it, nor would I blame you. I have no other choice and I cannot bear the silence for another age. I came to ask if you would take a message for me you return to Middle Earth.”

It was not what he had been expecting. “I-I will.” Maedhros said, curious despite himself at this request. He thought he knew who the message would be for. “Is it for Elrond?”

Elwing nodded. “Tell him his father and I love and miss him.” She seemed to hesitate. “I thought they had been killed as my brother had been, otherwise there is no power in Arda that could have made me leave them.”

Maedhros felt guilt stabbed into him. “Elwing-”

“It matters no longer Maedhros, for your oath is fulfilled, your judgement served, and Elros is long gone beyond the Circles of the World.” Tears spilled down her cheeks and she gave a sad little smile. “I sometimes wonder if anyone was waiting for him there, Luthien and Beren perhaps. I like to think that anyway.” Elwing looked off into the distance at something only she could see. “When Elros died, his feä came to me.” He told me he was going to see you as well before he left he Circles of the World. I could hardly believe him when he said that.” She shook her head, “I had missed so much because of you and Maglor. There were so many things I wanted to tell him, but when he stood before me, all I could think to say was ‘Were you happy?’ And when he said yes, I knew that was all I needed to know.”

The workroom was silent; Maedhros stood waiting, on edge and unsure of what to do now. Elwing turned to him. “It would be false of me to say there is no courage in taking up your task. I hope it brings your feä the peace it desire in the end.”

He looked at her deeply, searching for any sign of a lie but finding complete sincerity instead. “Thank you Elwing.”

She nodded. “I would ask you to take one other thing as well.” Elwing reached into her belt and took out a silk pouch, “It is a silly thing, but I would not have another son go without the proper traditions of marriage observed. Would you give this to Elrond’s wife as a gift from me?”

“Of course.” Maedhros took the small bag from her and Elwing bowed her head in farewell. She left without another word.


	9. Of the Arrival in Middle Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros returns to Middle Earth and has the first of many awkward reunions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to Middle Earth! We're going to be spending some more time in Rivendell next chapter, so don't worry if it seems too short.
> 
> indis-i-amil= mother-in-law. I couldn't find a word in Sindarin or Quenya for it, so I made it up. The rough transliteration is "wife's mother". If anyone knows if Tolkien did come up with a word for mother-in-law, please let me know. 
> 
> As always, please leave a kiddo or better yet a comment if you like the chapter!  
Enjoy!

Círdan greeted him as soon as Maedhros stepped onto the quay. It was hard to tell who was more astonished; the Shipwright, who had not seen a ship sail into the Havens from the West since the Second Age, or Maedhros, whose memory of Círdan was of an elf without a long silver beard.

“You’ll forgive me if I say that I am surprised at your return.” The old elf said at last.

“There’s no need for you to ask it.” Both elves looked down when Gwileth fell to the ground and began rolling on her back at their feet.

“Land, land, oh blessed, beautiful land!” The hound exclaimed.

Maedhros chuckled. “Círdan, may I present Gwileth, of the hounds of Oromë and kin to noble Huan?”

Círdan struggled for a moment before succumbing to a grin. “_Mae govannon_ Gwileth. It is long since I beheld one of the Huntsman’s hounds. It pleases me to see that they have changed little.” He turned to Maedhros. “There is a room as well as a meal ready for you if you would follow me. What news from the Blessed Realm?”

The house of Círdan was of pale stone, white as the sands by the quayside, its rook a hammered bronze that glinted in the sunlight. As they walked and spoke, Maehdros was keenly aware of the staring eyes from the elves they passed. There were even a few who hissed at him as they went by.

“Memories die hard among the elves here,” Círdan said apologetically.

Maedhros shrugged. “I don’t know that I wouldn’t do the same were I in their place.”

They ate privately in a small chamber just off of the main hall of the house, a meal of redfish roasted over coals and a salad of seaweed mixed with slivers of almonds and citrus fruit. The wine was light and fragrant with the scent flowers and fruit. A desert of pears and cheese followed, as did dusk before they had finished eating. Círdan took a sip of wine and set his goblet onto the low table, the light from the hearth glinted off of the ruby in the great ring he wore.

“So what do you plan to do now?”

Maedhros realized he had been staring at the ring; there was something familiar about it that he couldn’t place. “Tell the rest of the leaders of the Free People that they are not forgotten and then help as best I can in the fight.”

Círdan saw he was staring and removed the ring, holding it out so that Maedhros might see it better. “One of the three Celebrimbor made.” The old elf said quietly. “He sent it to me before he was captured.”

Tears pricked Maedhros’ eyes. “Then he sent it to the right bearer.”

“Perhaps, or one who might guard it till its true bearer comes.” The offer hung there unspoken.

He shook his head. “I am not he.” Maedhros replied and Círdan slipped the ring back onto his finger. The Shipwright poured them both another glass of wine.

“If you would have my council, go first to Imladris.” He began, “There, and with your cousin in Lothlorien, you are known. To the men of Arnor and Gondor, you are little more than a figure in their histories.”

“Imladris?”

Círdan looked puzzled for a moment and then smiled. “I forget Eriador is strange to you. Elrond has established a settlement within a valley in the footholds of the Misty Mountains. I will provide you a guide should you wish to go.”

Maedhros grinned. “I would, thank you. There’s a message I’m to give him especially.”

The road to Imladris was long, even with the help of Círdan’s guide. Bergil, a survivor of the battle against Sauron at Dagorlad, lead Maedhros first to the city of Annuminas on the shores of Lake Evendim. The men there, descendants of the Faithful of Numenor, took little notice of the elves and the hound, even though the tall red-haired elf was practically gawking at everything he saw. From Annuminas, the road turned south into a green and hilly country split by the river Bergil called the Baranduin and then east. They were welcomed at the watchtower the men called Amon Sul, where the wardens had seen them coming in what Maedhros was surprised to see was one of his father’s old palantiri. The captain of Amon Sul sent a small detachment to accompany them to the Ford of Bruinen; trolls had become a problem in the area recently. When at last they climbed to the top of the switchbacked trail and the pass opened onto the valley hidden below; Maedhros let out a sigh of relief to see something he could recognize. Never before had he felt more out of place than he had on the road. Despite this, he hesitated. A horse-length ahead of him, Bergil stopped.

“My lord? Do you not mean to go on? Word will have been taken of our arrival by now.”

Maedhros shook himself free of the sudden doubt that had crept over him. “No. If we’re expected, let us move on.” They made their way to the stables where hostlers took charge of their horses as a dark haired elf approached them.

“Mae govannen, Lord Maedhros.” He said, bow with his hand set over his heart as the other returned the greeting and gesture. “I am Erestor, steward of the house of Elrond. He bids me tell you that he awaits your coming. Rooms are prepared for your companions.”

“Thank you Erestor.” He knelt down to meet Gwileth eye to eye. “Go with Bergil for now. I will find you later; this I must do alone.”

Gwileth gave him a wary look. “If you are certain. Only call, and I will be at your side.”

Maedhros nodded and looked to see that Erestor was staring in shock. “This is Gwileth a hound of Oromë.”

Erestor bowed again, this time to Gwileth. “It is an honor. I shall have the kitchen send you our finest meat while you wait.” Her tail wagged like a proud banner. He turned back to Maedhros. “If you will follow me, my lord?”

The steward led him out of the stables and over a bridge that crossed swiftly running water. The path lead through woods down towards a great stone bridge that spanned the roaring river flowing some twenty feet beneath. Maedhros appreciated how even its its beauty, Imladris had been built like a fortress; no doubt the bridge could be collapsed should an enemy attempt to cross it, and the path to the house were steep and narrow.For now though, peace reigned through the valley, with the very air filled with the sound of elvish voices lifted in song. Erestor lead him the outer porch of the great house where the lord and his lady waited to greet their guest. Time had done little to Elrond; he face was still young and hale, his eyes bright though they held the knowledge that came with centuries of living. His wife was of a height with him, her silver hair contrasting with his dark. Maedhros could see his cousin in the color of her daughter’s eyes, but the rest was clearly from her father; he was a nephew of Thingol’s, if Maedhros remembered correctly. That would also explain why her face was as impassive as stone while Elrond was smiling.

“Welcome.” Elrond said as they embraced, “It is good to see you.”

Maedhros smiled. “As it is you.”

The younger elf gestured towards his lady. “My wife Celebrian.” She nodded to him and Maedhros bowed low to her as she reached for the welcome cup that had been brought forth.

“It is our pleasure to welcome the messenger of the Valar,” she announced in a tone that suggested she would be far happier if a different messenger had been sent. Still, she offered him the cup, which he took and drank. “Be welcome to Imladris and the House of Elrond LordMaedhros.” The strong accent on the Sindarin version of his name was no accident he thought.

Elrond looked at his wife with a strained sort of pleading before he turned back to Maedhros. “There are two others you should meet.” He turned as a nurse brought two small elflings forward. Elrond knelt and murmured something to the children, twins, Maedhros saw with amusement. Elrond brought them forward, each child holding his hand.

“This is Elladan,” he lifted the twin on his right, “and Elrohir.”

Maedhros knelt, though even then he was still twice the twins’ height. “Hello. My name is Maedhros. I’m a,” he hesistated, unsure of what words to use next. His eyes met those of Celebrian and he had the answer, “friend of your father’s.”

“Come,” Celebrian said, taking hold of Elrohir, “The feast of welcome is ready and waiting.” With that, she took hold of Elladan as well and headed inside.

Elrond let out a sigh. “I am sorry for that. She didn’t hear favorable stories about you or Maglor from Celeborn.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for Elrond.” Maedhros replied. “I don’t blame her; Nimloth was her cousin after all.”

They were both silent for a while after that. “It is good to see you again though.” Elrond announced. “After the Last Alliance and our losses there, I feared that the wisdom of the Eldar Days would fade. Now we have three high lords of the Noldor with us.”

Maedhros looked at him, puzzled. “Myself and,” he paused and grinned, “your _indis i amil_. Who do you count as the third?”

Elrond rolled his eyes at the gentle taunt. “Glorfindel of Gondolin. He was sent back just after Sauron had revealed himself to be Annatar. I had hoped he would be here when you arrived, but he had to attend to other matters.” He clapped Maedhros on the back. “Still, we’d better go inside. Despite her feelings towards Feanorians, Celebrian has really outdone herself with the feast.”


	10. Of New Friendships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros fulfills two very important promises and finds a friend where he least expected to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get the hankies ready folks!  
Thanks to everyone for the comments and kudos- they brighten my day whenever I see them :)

Maedhros woke before dawn the next day, restless despite the late night before. He left quietly so as not to wake Gwileth, and made his way towards the eastern porch to watch the sunrise. The first rays of light had just crept over the mountain when the door opened and he turned to see that Elrond had joined him.

“You still watch the sunrise when you can’t sleep.”

Maedhros made a half-hearted grimace. “Old habit I suppose. You were never an early riser though,” he added. “Why are you awake?”

“I could blame the twins, but truthfully, there is much on my mind.” He looked up at him. “You never said goodbye. The only word we received when the messenger brought news of the battle’s victory. Why didn’t you or Maglor tell us what you meant to do?”

Even after all the centuries, Maedhros still could not bring himself to look Elrond in the face at the questions he had known would be asked someday. “At first I don’t think we knew ourselves,” he quietly began, “and when the decision was made, I at least had to act quickly lest I gave way to fear.”

“But why?”

“You and Elros. If there is one thing I leaned about that accursed Oath it was that misfortune always worked itself in to whatever my family did. I don’t know how, but it would not surprise me if the Silmarils somehow found their way to either of you, or even Gil-galad. For some reason or another, you would not give them up, and then even more innocent blood would be on my hand.” Maedhros looked away, tears spilling down his face. “I would be little better than Morgoth then, and I would rather throw myself into some fiery chasm than suffer that to happen.”

Elrond stood their awkwardly, wanting to offer his foster-uncle some comfort, but unsure how. He was no longer child; somehow, it seemed as if he were even older than Maedhros, as if time itself had frozen during the elf’s time with Nienna. Casting thought and worry aside, he wrapped Maedhros into a tight hug. “You redeemed yourself adarháno.” He whispered in a voice fierce and thick with emotions. “Don’t ever compare yourself to Morgoth again.”

Maedhros returned the hug, and the two of them sat together in the quiet, watching the dawn break over a new day. “While I was still within the Halls of Nienna, Elros’ fëa came to me and asked me to bring you a message. I wonder if he knew.”

There was a quiet choking sound and when Elrond spoke, the tears were not entirely gone from his voice. “What did he say?”

“Hope will come into your house before the end. And that you will see each other again.”

The glint of tears was in his eyes when Elrond looked away, as if he did not quite believe his brother’s words. “I’d like to think that.” He said quietly.

Arien’s rays shone bright over the mountains, filling the valley with the warm golden light of morning. As the last light of Ëarendil and his ship disappeared from there sky, Maedhros remembered another promise that was best fulfilled in private. “You mother also came to me in Valinor.”

“And you lived?” His tone was light, but Elrond had sat up straighter.

“She struck me the first time,” he admitted,” I do not begrudge her that though. The second time was before I set sail and she asked that I bring you a message. She wanted you to know that she never would have left you or Elros willingly. Were it in her power, she would have returned to you.”

The muscles in Elrond’s neck tightened for just a moment before his shoulders drooped and he wept silently.Maedhros reached out and then hesitated, reminded once again of his role in the creation of this sorrow. After some time had passed, Elrond spoke.

“Time lessened the pain of my parents’ leaving, but when Elladan and Elrohir were born, it was as if that pain were made anew. I looked at my sons and I knew it would take the summons of Mandos for me to leave them. What my parents must have felt… I thank Eru every night that at least the twins will be grown before Sauron has regained his strength.” He shook his head as if to drive the thought of that future from his mind. “Come. The night’s fast is broken early here because of those twins.”

Maedhros smiled. “Then not much has changed.”

While Celebrian made no openly hostile overtures towards Maedhros, neither did she make any effort to welcome him beyond duty. He had been in Imladris for little more than a fortnight before chance brought the two of them together in private. It was hard to tell who was more surprised to find themselves in the presence of the other in the library.

“Lord Maedhros.” Celebrian cooly greet, turning to go.

“My lady, please wait. There is a promise I would keep that concerns you.”

She stopped, the look on her face so like the one he had seen on her mother’s face that Maedhros couldn’t speak. “What promise could that possibly be my lord?”

He had kept the silken pouch from Elwing on his belt since she had given it to him; now Maedhros untied it and offered it out to Celebrian. “Elwing asked that I give this to you as a wedding gift from her.”

Slowly, Celebrian took the pouch from him and opened it, her eyes widening as she took out the jewel. It was a great emerald set within the wings of an eagle of silver, crafted so that it could be worn as either a brooch or pendant.

“It is a custom among the Noldor for the groom’s mother to present the bride with a jewel,” he explained, though her own mother would have known of this tradition. “Elwing sent this along with her love.”

Celebrian looked up at him, silently trying to weigh this unlooked for kinsman against the stories she had heard of him. “Thank you.” She said at last, her voice thick. “I would be lying if I did not admit to being surprised at you showing such kindness.”

A terse grimace stretched across Maedhros’ face. “Your father has little reason to remember me as such.”

“No, but if my husband’s mother can forgive you, what right have I to not do the same?” Celebrian reached up and set her hand upon his shoulder. “Truly, I thank you for this. He would never say as much, but it tore at Elrond to no end that he could not fulfill tradition when we wed. I will wear this with pride.”

Maedhros smiled and bowed. He moved to to go only for Celebrian to stop him. “I have always wondered,” she began, blushing, “you may think it a silly request, but what news is there of my grandfather Finarfin or my uncles? My mother spoke so little of them when I was young…”

He nodded and gestured at two nearby chairs. “I would be glad to. All but one of your uncles has left Mandos; Aegnor was given a choice similar to Luthien and has gone beyond the Circles of the World with Andreth.” Both elves smiled at the knowledge that the tragic lovers had been reunited at last, “Finrod married his beloved some time ago, and your grandfather rules the Noldor in Tirion. The last I saw of all of them was when they bid me farewell from the quayside of Alqualondë.”

They spoke for hours, with Maehdros telling Celebrian stories of her mother as a child (“She had taken all of her brothers’ best tunics and dyed them to match her best dress- they all showed up to the feast wearing the brightest shades of pink I have seen, and not just their clothes!”) To his own memories of the antics Elrond and Elros had gotten into. When Elrond came looking for his wife and Gwileth for her charge, both were shocked to find them laughing merrily, as if they were two old friends. Elrond looked to the hound, who shrugged.

“Far be it from me to disturb them.” Elrond happily murmured, getting a soft snort of agreement from Gwileth in reply.


	11. Of the Golden Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros meets with his cousin and her not-so welcoming husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This chapter's a meaty one, as a thank you for your patience. The last two week have been insane- I found out last week that I will have to have surgery in early December. Don't worry, I'm going to keep posting, but in the case that I can't post weekly, I will post longer chapters every two weeks, probably three once December rolls around.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are welcomed and appreciated! You guys are awesome!

Rain poured down and the holly trees offered little protection. Maedhros pulled his hood further down as he led his horse towards the rocky outcrop that Lindir had chosen for their camp that night. He undid his mount’s packs, lifted them off, and then turned the horse out to graze nearby with the others. By the time that was all done, Lindir already had a small fire going while Lurenion handed out the night’s ration of lembas.

“At this pace, we’ll pass the turning for Caradhras by dusk tomorrow.” The scout said, albeit a little too cheerfully considering the weather. He suddenly sobered and looked from Maedhros to Lindir. “That is, unless you mean to take the mountain pass.”

Maedhros chewed on a piece of lembas as Gwileth gnawed at a rabbit she had caught. “Why would we? Does that path not put us further north than we intend to be?”

Lindir glared at Lurenion before turning to him. “It does my lord.”

“Then why would we take it?”

Lurenion turned away abashed, but it wasn’t until Lindir noticed Maedhros staring at him expectantly that he finally answered. “The road to Moria and the Dimrill Dale leads by Ost-in-Edhil.”

A hush fell on the camp and the two elves watched as Maedhros studied the fire. Gwileth whined and nudged his hand.

“It is deserted now, is it not?” He quietly asked. “I would see it, if the journey does not take us too far from our path.”

Both elves nodded, though gloom seemed to hang upon all of them for the rest of the night and into the next day when it dawned grey and drear. Mist fell and clung to everything, setting the land around them into an eerie quiet. Lurenion and Gwileth went off to scout ahead; by midmorning they had returned with word that the road ahead was safe and clear. They reached the outskirts of the stronghold shortly after midday. With Lindor and Lurenion looking on, Maedhros dismounted as walked amidst the ruins of his family’s last creation. Elrond had told him that with the state that Celebrimbor’s corpse had been in when it had finally been recovered Gil-Galad had ordered it burned with honor upon his beloved forges. Even in their ruined state, there was a familiarity to the place that Maedhros recognized. Memory eventually lead him to the very heart of Ost-in-Edhil, where the forge had also been set in Himring long ago.

“Maedhros?” Gwileth had followed him unheard. “What is it you would do here?”

His hand rested on the cold damp stone of a broken forge. The chill air alone did not make it tremble. “I’m not sure.”

The hound pressed her body against his leg. “Do not linger where there is no life. There is nothing for you here. If you would find vengeance for your nephew, do so by hindering the Enemy, not grieving over dead stones.”

Almost and though her words had caused it, the single remaining leaf on a nearby tree fell and dropped onto the ground before them, dead and withered. Without a word, Maedhros slid the ring he wore off its finger. The adamant at the center of his family’s star glittered defiance against the gloom. Knelling, he began digging a small hole, only for Gwileth to gently push him aside so that she could do the task instead. Maedhros set the ring at the bottom of the hole and then filled it with earth. Ost-en-Edhil might be sad and broken, but he would not allow Sauron to erase all trace of his family from it.

The golden mallorn leaves glimmered like a sea of gold and white from the heights of the dale. Maedhros bade farewell to the escort that King Durin had given them and turned south to where their guides had said the road to Lórinand lay. Even with the help of the dwarves, it wouldn’t have been hard for him to find the road; even from the heights Maedhros could sense a power nearby, one that grew steadily stronger the closer they drew to the forrest. Barely had they reached the eaves when their party was hailed and silver and gray clad warriors appeared from behind the trees.

“What is your purpose in the Golden Wood _randirim_?” A golden haired elf demanded of him, polite but firm. The other warriors’ bows were strung, but not drawn.

Maedhros pushed back the hood of his cloak, noting how several of the elves’ eyes widened in recognition. Few outside Mahtan’s kin had russet hair and none had his height. “I am Maedhros, son of Fëanor. My companions are Gwileth, one of the hounds of Oromë, and Lindir and Lurenion, both of the House of Elrond from whence we’ve come. Our purpose is to see my kinswoman and cousin, the Lady Galadriel.”

The leader cast a quick look towards the warriors before nodding at Maedhros. “Come with us my lord.”

They moved quickly through the wood, crossing over silver streams and through meads covered with thick, lush grass. The great towering hedge seemed to appeared from nothing and nowhere, and Maedhros doubted he ever would have found the gate were it not for their escort. Their leader brought them to the base of a tree. So great was its trunk that five elves standing with arms outstretched could not reach half the way around it. Steps had been sung into the wood and wound around the tree all the way into the canopy.

“If you will climb up my lord, the flet leads to the guesthouse of King Amroth. You may wait for the Lady there.”

The three elves were left alone, though Maedhros had to resist the urge to check to see if the door had been locked behind them.

“Very friendly, aren’t they?” Gwileth grumbled, bringing a stifled laugh from Lurenion.

“No doubt if it were the two of you alone the welcome would be different. Their king is one of the Sindar, is he not?” Maedhros asked. They nodded. “Were he or any of his kin from Doriath?”

Lindir grimaced. “His father.”

Maedhros settled into a chair as Gwileth rested her head upon his knee. “Then we may be here some time.”

That turned out to be true enough, though Maedhros would not have been surprised if the wait had been even longer. The blonde elf returned and brought them across bridges and flets to a great tree and house that gleamed with moon and starlight that had been caught within the wood of which it was made. A door opened and a small group of elves trailed out, followed by a silver-haired elf lord who walked beside a tall lady crowned with hair that shimmered with light. No amount of years could take away Artanis’ beauty. Maedhros topped forward and bowed.

“Thank you for receiving me _gwanur_.” He began, deeming it wise to use the Sindarin word for kinswoman rather than the Quenya of their family. “It is good to see you again.”

Galadriel nodded, but Maedhros caught the swift restraining movement she made by setting her hand across her husband’s. “Welcome to Lórinand cousin, and welcome to those who have accompanied you. Those of Elrond’s household, I thank you for your aide to my cousin; you are welcome to remain within this realm until you are rested and ready to return to your home.”

Lindir and Lurenion bowed and Galadriel motioned for Maedhros to accompany her. She led him back inside and to an open aired porch where low couches lay around a table laden with food and drink. Galadriel motioned for Maedhros to sit at one couch and took a seat of her own across from him. Gwileth claimed the final couch for her own. The porch door opened again and Celeborn swiftly crossed the distance to sit next to his wife.

“Why truly have you come here Maedhros?”

Maedhros could feel her mind reaching out to his. “The Valar tasked me with returning to Middle Earth and fighting the Enemy where I could. I know of none better who could tell me where that would be.”

Celeborn poured himself a glass of pale golden wine. “Away from here would be a start.”

Galadriel turned towards her husband, glaring. “Celeborn! Do you think your judgement superior to that of the Valar?”

Maedhros held up a hand to his cousin. “It is alright cousin. I do not blame him and were I in your husband’s place no doubt I would feel the same.” He faced Celeborn. “My brother and I did much wrong to you and your family, and you have every right to wish me ill for that. We do however, share the common purpose of thwarting Sauron.”

“Sauron is defeated. As far as I see, that purpose is accomplished.”

“You and I both know, dear husband, that it is folly to believe such.” Galadriel said in a voice cool as old steel. “And even if it were so, what of his servants? Where are the Úlairi? Will not they seek to achieve their master’s will, even in defeat?” She turned to Maedhros. “If you seek to thwart the designs of the Enemy, then you shall much to occupy you here in Middle Earth, though I deem the days of the Eldar here are drawing to their end.”

Maedhros bowed his head in acknowledgment and thanks. “I would appreciate your council in how that task might be done Galadriel.”

She smiled. “You never were one for stillness Maitimo. Surely you can spare an evening for reunion?”

Surprised by her use of his Quenya name, Maedhros was caught off guard. A hesitant smile of his own appeared. “If it is the wish of my hostess, then so it shall be.”

Celeborn cellared his throat and rose to his feet. “I think then I will bid you farewell for now Nelyafinwë.” The use of his father-name was not lost of him, nor was the manner in which Celeborn made the Quenya sound like a curse.

Silence fell upon them until Celeborn was gone.Galadriel then reached across the table and touched Maedhros’ arm. “He will come around, once he knows you spoke true of your purpose here.”

He nodded. “As I said, I do not blame him.”

Galadriel sat back into her couch. “Good. Now tell me, how is my daughter and my grandsons?”

“The first is well and sent me with her love. The second are mischievous.” Maedhros grinned wickedly, “I wonder where they could have gotten that from. Certainly not from their father.”

She laughed merrily and began to fill a plate with cuts of meat, fruit, and cheese and handed it to him. Her face saddened a little, though hope lit it from within. “How are my brothers?”

Maedhros told her of their family and then Galadriel told him more of what had passed in Middle Age since his time there. They spoke late into the night and into the early morning; dawn was breaking when Maedhros finally returned to the guesthouse.


	12. Of the Lady of the Greenwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros attends the Feast of Starlight and Galadriel is that cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm bringing in an OC here. While trying to figure out where they could believably come from, I kept coming back to Oropher and Thranduil- cannon wise, the only child Oropher is reported to have had is Thranduil, but Tolkien isn't the best when it comes to daughters (cough cough Aragorn and Arwen's unnamed girls cough cough). So, since there is nothing in cannon that contradicts it, voila!
> 
> I'm having surgery next week, so the next chapter might be a little late, but stick around- some very important people will be arriving in Middle Earth. ;)

The day had dawned bright and pleasantly warm, with just enough chill on the air that Gwileth would not allow Maedhros to spend it indoors as he had for the last three days since arriving in Lórinand. With her running ahead in the lead, they made their way down the golden-leafed paths of the forest kingdom. Most of the elves they past ignored them, though there were still some whose low murmuring Maedhros found hard to ignore. They pressed on, leaving the Elven halls behind to wander through the wood itself, coming to rest at the top of a small elanor-speckled hill that overlooked a quiet stream. Scarce had a handful of minutes passed when Maedhros became aware of a woman’s voice calling his name; he looked downhill and saw Galadriel approaching him, accompanied by another elf woman.

“I thought that was you cousin!” She called merrily, “And Gwileth, well met as well!”

He bowed in greeting. “How fare you this day Artanis?”

She smiled. “Well enough. I should introduce you though.” Galadriel made a small gesture towards her companion. “Ilmarien of the Woodland Realm, daughter of Oropher and sister to King Thranduil of that realm and my friend for many years. Ilmarien, I believe you know of my eldest cousin.”

Maedhros found himself being regarded by eyes that were the very color of a midwinter morning, blue-gray and cold. From the pale silver of her hair, she was of Celeborn’s kin. “I have.” Her voice was cool, not unfriendly, but not inviting either.

He bowed to her. “_Mae govannon_, Lady Ilmarien. This is Gwileth, a hound of Oromë-” Maedhros’ trailed off, seeing Gwileth walk up to her, tail awag.

“We have already met.”

Ilmarien knelt, her golden skirt spreading out like a blooming flower on the grass and scratched the hound’s ear. “I trust you found the venison to your taste _mellon_?”

Galadriel turned to Maedhros. “I was on my way to the outer-gardens when I ran into Ilmarien. Would you join me?”

Before he could answer, Ilmarien rose to her feet. “Forgive me Galadriel, but Amroth is expecting me. I have tarried longer than I should.” She nodded farewell to her and to Gwileth before she turned and departed. Galadriel slid her arm through Maedhros’.

“Walk with me.” They made their way down hill towards the stream and a narrow path that ran by it. “Ilmarien truly is an old and good friend of mine, but her father was a cousin of some sort to Celeborn and from Doriath. I truly hope the two of you come to count one another as friends. But enough of that for now. You told me when you arrived that you sought my council. Would you still have it?”

“Of course.”

Galadriel looked towards the stream for a moment. “If you would best aide in the fight against the enemy, for now, that is best done west of the mountains. There is a chill wind coming down from the north. A threat looms against the kingdom of Arnor. When it will strike, I know not.”

A loud snort came from Gwileth. “Forgive me for saying so lady, but that is a convenience that is hard to ignore. It rather sweeps your husband and his people from addressing their own grudges under the tapestry.”

Maedhros couldn’t hide the derision he felt. “And does this council have naught to do with the memories of the Sindar?”

She bit her lip. “That will change in time Maitimo. I speak truly. Elrond will have need of your help, and I do not think you will be the only aide the Valar send to us. Better for you to be in Eregion for now where our need is greatest.” A small laugh escaped from Galadriel. “And it would soothe this mother’s heart to know her daughter had a warrior such as you near.”

He stared at her for a long while. “You didn’t even need to ask that of me. And I did mean it when I asked for your council. If you think Eregion is where I should go, then so be it.”

“But not yet,” Galadriel insisted. “Stay at least for the _Mereth en Gilieth_. There will still be time before Caradhras closes for you to depart after that.”

“Lord Maedhros, it seems we are feast partners tonight.”

Maedhros looked up to see Ilmarien had come up to stand beside him. She wore a gown of rich purple, so deep in its shade he would have mistook it for black were it not for the small glittering adamants that had been woven into the cloth, speckling the fabrics like stars. Upon her brown the princess wore a mithril circlet of adamant and amethyst. Caught off guard by her sudden and unexpected arrival, Maedhros clumsily stumbled to his feet as Ilmarien took her own seat next to his; he could hear Gwileth stiffle a laugh as he sat back down.

“My lady, I am honored.”

“Thank your cousin. She is the one who arranged the seating for tonight.” Ilmarien’s mouth made a little twist. “In truth, she arranged nearly everything.”

Maedhros looked towards where Galadriel sat next to Celeborn and raised his glass in salute to her when she caught his gaze. “She always did love celebrations.”

Ilmarien took a glass of her own from a passing servant. “Do the Noldor celebrate the Feast of Starlight?” She asked, taking sip. “I’d always assumed she adopted it because of Celeborn.”

Her question took him aback, not from the words it held but the calm, slightly curious manner in which she asked it. “We do, though under a different name.”

“Hmm.” Her glass was set upon the table with a delicate _clink_. Awkward silence settled on the two of them, despite the merriment and music all around. Finally, Ilmarien gave a little snort. “I don’t know why she would do this.”

“Do what my lady?”

“Sit you and I together. Galadriel knows I do not do well with small talk.”

Surprised at the unexpected reason, Maedhros couldn’t help but laugh a little, which illicited a questioning look from Ilmarien. “Forgive me, I thought you were going to say something else?”

Her head titled to one side. “What? That she wouldn’t sit you and I together because I am Sindar?”

“Something like that.”

Ilmarien rolled her eyes and selected a dish of fruit wrapped in crisp pastry. “Well, it is true that Celeborn and my father counted each other as kin, but it is a distant kinship. I wasn’t even born when my father left Doriath, and my brother was scarcely but an infant. Your family harmed me naught.”

Despite her words, Maedhros’ mind went back a few days to their first encounter, the coolness with which Ilmarien acted towards him. “If you do not mind my asking then, why did you seem to eager to depart when Galadriel invited me to accompany the two of you?”

The look on her face was puzzled. “Accompany us? Do you mean the other day?” He nodded. “Galadriel walking alone when I met her and then she saw you shortly after.” Her eyes met his, and Maedhros saw honesty in them. “I was heading towards the king’s council room to delivery a missive from my brother.”

Suddenly, Gwileth began to laugh, startling the two elves. “It is as your cousin said Maedhros. Not every elf you meet will hate you.”

Ilmarien’s mouth twitched. “No, that would probably just be Celeborn.” Her eyes widened. “That was unkind, forgive me.”

Maedhros couldn’t help it; he laughed, feeling the tension that had clung to him since arriving in Lórinand dissipate. “So tell me, Lady Ilmarien,” he began, wiping his eyes, “what is life like in the Woodland Realm?”

After a moment more of watchinghim, a grin slowly spread across her face. Amidst the bustle and clamor of the celebrations, Galadriel spotted the two elves deep in conversation. The satisfied smirk that appeared on her face was obscured as she drank for her glass.


	13. Of the Coming of the Istari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros reunites with a very old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience everyone! I'm happy to say that I'm doing great after surgery :) On the plus side, recovery has given me plenty of time for an extra long chapter :D Hope you enjoy the reunion
> 
> As always, please leave a comment or kiddo if you like what you read <3

Erestor found Maedhros as he was making his way back from the stables. “My lord, we’ve received word from Lord Círdan. Lord Elrond waits for you in the Hall of Fire.”

Maedhros nodded and quickened his pace. “Did he tell anything about what was said?”

The steward shook his head. “No my lord.”

“Very well. Thank you for telling me.” Maedhros made his way into the house and went towards the hall where he found Elrond, Celebrian, and Glorfindel waiting for him. Celebrian’s seemed to be in a state of shock, while Elrond looked to be deep in thought and Glorfindel impassive. “What is this?”

“Círdan received a message from Lord Ulmo. The Valar are sending several Maiar to give aide against the Shadow as our time here draws to its end.”

Maedhros slowly lowered himself into an empty chair. “Then they think Sauron will regain his strength soon.”

Glorfindel gave a slow nod. “Or his servants, and they are many.”

“Does he say who is being sent?”

“No, only that they will arrive at Midsummer.” Elrond reached across and handed the rolled up scroll to Maedhros. “It is my purpose to have someone to meet them at the Havens. Of those of the Eldar here, only you and Glorfindel have met with any of them and are near enough to send.”

Maedhros brow furrowed sharply. “But what of the tidings we received from the Vales of Anduin? Goblins and wargs crossing those lands in greater numbers than has seen in a century and massing along the edges of the Greenwood. I would council against leaving them unattended for long.”

Celebrian twisted a ring on her finger. “Those lands are beyond our borders Maedhros, and the elves of the Greenwood do not take kindly to those who meddle in their affairs without their invitation. You have met Ilmarien, but the sister is not the brother, and Thranduil can be…” her lips pursed, “prickly.”

Elrond set his head upon his hand, but said nothing; Glorfindel looked from the Lord of Imladris to the Lady and then spoke to Maedhros. “It is but two months until Midsummer, and part of that time will be occupied by the journey to the coast. My heart tells me it would be better to have the help of these Maiar in addressing the issue of the goblins. I know you are eager to fight against Sauron’s servants, but we cannot be rash when aide is on hand.”

“Do you agree with him Elrond?” Elrond nodded. Maedhros sighed. “Then if it is the will of the Lord of Imladris, so be it. I will see the task done.”

“Both of you actually.” Celebrian added. “Glorfindel is going as well.”

Maedhros took a glass from the center of the table, filled and raised it to the other elf. “Then here’s to a safe journey.”

The four of them spent the next few hours discussing plans and arrangements for the journey, as well as speculating who might be sent. Maedhros was making his way back to his rooms when a small voice called out to him; turning, a smile broke out on his face as little Arwen came running up to him, beaming.

“Uncle, you’re back!” The little elf maid launched herself into his arms. “Is Gwileth with you? Did you bring me a present?”

He spun around in a circle, eliciting a squeal of delighted laughter from Arwen before setting her back down.

“Gwileth went hunting as soon as we entered the valley, but she should be back soon . And as for a present,” he reached into his belt pouch and pulled out the little doe he had carved, “I thought this would do.”Arwen took the doe with a delighted cry and as she hugged him about the knees, Maedhros saw Glorfindel waiting off to the side, clearly waiting to speak to him. “Run along now sweetling,” Maedhros told the child, mussing the little girl’s hair a little, “I need to see what Glorfindel wants.”

Glorfindel smiled at Arwen, who gave them both a small wave before skipping off. “With the news from Círdan, I forgot to ask of your own. How does the North Kingdom?”

The journey he had just returned from did not recall pleasant memories. “You mean north kingdoms?” Maedhros corrected. “Eärendur divided the kingdom among his sons, remember? His grandsons now rule their own little realms, in peace for now, but who knows how long that will last?” A grimace twisted his face. “There is already an aggressiveness in Rhudaur that I do not trust.”

“Then well it is that the Valar are sending their messengers to us. Despite the power and will we here possess, I think all of us would agree it would hold for only a little while against the growing Shadow.”

Maedhros stared at the other elf, an odd look on his face. “You know, you sound like Turgon when you speak like that.”

A wry smile spread across Glorfindel’s face. “Well, where do you think I learned that truth from?”

“Rhudaur might not welcome us, but the other kingdoms should be told at least.” Maedhros said. “If these Maiar will be here by Midsummer, that leaves us just enough to time to visit Annuminas if we depart within a fortnight.”

“Agreed. I will ask Erestor to make the preparations.”

They left Imladris ten days later, riding swiftly through Rhudaur and Cardolan, camping one night on the outskirts of the hilltop village that stood at the crossroads of the Greenway and the East Road before crossing the Branduin into Lindon. Círdan welcomed them warmly at the Grey Havens, and the three elves settled in to wait. At dawn on Midsummer morning, they all found themselves drawn to the shore.

“They are coming.” Círdan announced, heralding the sudden bright flash of light from the water. When it cleared, five figures stood on the strand before them. Maedhros wasn’t not sure until that moment what he had been expecting; certainly the Maiar would have raiment, but that of Men, and men near the end of their lives at that was beyond anything he might have guessed.

“Mae govannen ithryn,” Glorfindel greeted, “You are most welcomed.”

The tallest, of the five stepped forward, garbed in white robes brighter than fresh snow and as proud as a king of many winters. “Your welcome is appreciated, Glorfindel the Golden. You knew me as Curumo, a servant of Aulë.”

Maedhros resisted the urge to rub his wrist at those words. All know that long ago, before the Trees, before even the Lamps had been lit, Sauron had served Aulë before Morgoth. Curumo had known him then, but that knowledge gave little comfort. The shortest of the ithron, garbed in brown, eagerly walked towards Maedhros with deceptive spryness as Curumo introduced Lorien’s two blue clad servants. The little brown man suddenly stopped, looked back over his shoulder, and motioned for the last gray-robbed one to come with him. Only a little shorter than Curomo, it was hard for Maedhros to tell where his eyebrows ended and his hair began underneath the long, pointed gray hat he wore.

“It is wonderful to see you again Maitimo!” the brown ithron’s voice spoke with a much younger voice than his face gave sign of. There was something familiar about it though.

“Aiwendil?”

His face lit with the smile Maedhros had come to know well when he’d visited Nienna’s Hall. “I don’t mind telling you I was a little worried you wouldn’t recognize me, but Olorin said that was foolish, you were cleverer than-”

Maedhros’ eyes shoot up and immediately met with those of the grey man.

“It is good to see you so well Maedhros-” the rest of his words were cut off by the elf’s tight embrace. Glorfindel and Círdan’s conversations with Curumo and the blue Ithryn trailed off as they took notice of this reunion.

“I believe, Lord Círdan, our purposes would best be served by your own account of what has transpired here.” Curumo said, clearly wanting to leave the shore. Círdan took the hint and lead the way back to his halls. That night saw the ithryn feasted with much celebration by the elves of the Havens, but Maedhros took note of how solemn and withdrawn from the festivities Olorin appeared. When his friend quietly left the hall without any others taking notice, he got up as well and followed Olorin out. He found the Maia on a balcony, staring out towards the sea in the west.

“What troubles you my friend? You’ve been unusually quiet, even for you.”

Olorin started and then frowned at him. “I know Nerdanel raised you not to sneak up on people.” With a shrug, Maedhros came to stand next to him. “Forgive me. My thoughts weigh heavily upon me.”

Maedhros nodded in sympathy. “I would lessen the burden of them if I can Olorin. You have but to speak them.”

Silence fell then, long enough that Maedhros feared Olorin would not tell him what troubled him so greatly. When at last the Maia spoke however, his voice was thick with emotion.

“I fear I am not strong enough for the task I was appointed.” He whispered, shame hanging onto each word. “I told the Valar as much when my name first came up, but Lord Manwë ordered me here. If my strength is not enough, if the Enemy wins-”

“Do not count yourself so little my friend.” Maedhros replied, setting his hand onto Olorin’s shoulder. “You were able to help me, and many are those who thought that to be an impossible task.”

Olorin shook his head. “Aiwendil was only sent so that Lady Yavanna might be represented. Curumo and the others are warriors, capable of great deeds that will hold back Sauron’s shadow. I am a healer. I mend things, not destroy them.”

A thought occurred to Maedhros then. “Then we must find you something to mend. There is a creeping blight upon the lands east of the Misty Mountains, a growing menace that I planned to seek the cause of after this.” He made a vague gesture back towards the feast. “Your company would be more than welcome.”


	14. Of the Woodland Realm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros and Olorin arrive in Mirkwood and Maedhros meets a certain pointy eared elvish princeling... ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy everyone! To those who celebrate, Merry Christmas!

The orc fled through the woods, cursing in the black speech as Maedhros galloped after him. Maedhros urged his horse into a charge and brought his spear level, waiting until just the right moment between his mount’s steps to throw it. It struck true, right between the orc’s malformed shoulder blades. Olorin brought his own mount up swiftly behind him, Gwileth bounding along just a few feet behind.

“Well done. Your grandfather’s hand serves you well.”

Maedhros dismounted next to the corpse and wrenched the spear free. “One got away. The trees are too dense for the horses to be of much use. If you would lead the feint to the north with the mounts, Gwileth and I will drive him towards you on foot.”

Olorin nodded and motioned for the rest of their party to join them. “Good hunting. Don’t be careless.”

He grinned. “Have I ever?” and left before the Maia could fire off a retort. It wasn’t hard to find the trail of the escaped orc; broken limbs and trampled undergrowth littered the forrest. The tracks it left made it almost too easy. They had gone less than a quarter mile when Gwileth bristled, her growls barely stifled as they made their way through the trees.

“I can smell the filth just through those oaks.” She murmured. Maedhros nodded and signaled for her to go to the right. He had barely reached the first oak when the the sudden whistle of loosed arrows and the _thunk _as they struck flesh came from ahead; the orc let out a strangled cry and fell. Maedhros hurried ahead, silently calling for Gwileth. The orc lay dead in a spreading pool of blood, arrowed liked a hedgepig. He knelt down next to the corpse to examine the arrows sprouting from his back. As his fingers brushed the white feathers of the fletching, Maedhros suddenly felt the cold sting of a metallic edge at the back of his neck.

“What’s this?” A woman’s voice mused. “A Noldo caught off his guard?” There was no malice in her voice; if anything, the woman was teasing him. Something familiar about the voice stirred his mind, and as the light pressure of the blade vanished, he slowly turned to see the smirking face of Ilmarien looking down at him. She wore the leather armor favored by wood elves, her silver hair braided and coiled for battle; the curved blade in her hand was still stained with the black blood of orcs. Gwileth stood at her side, grinning wolfishly.

“Why didn’t you tell me we were not alone?” Maedhros asked the hound.

“Because it was funny.”

“What brings you to the Greenwood Lord Maedhros?” Ilmarien asked, sheathing her sword in the bone-and-horn scabbard that hung from the simple leather belt. She offered him a hand up, which he took. “Surely you have not chased these beasts from Imladris?”

Leaning against his spear, Maedhros shook his head. “No my lady, but word reached us even there that your borders were being plagued by them.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Us? Is Lord Elrond with you?”

“No, I meant-”

“Confound it all Maedhros!” Olorin’s voice boomed. Sparks appeared to be coming from his eyebrows. “What happened to don’t be careless?”

Maedhros looked to Ilmarien. “Lady Ilmarien Orophoriel, allow me to present Olorin, a Maia of Nienna and messenger of the Valar.”

Ilmarien’s eyes widened and she knelt, the warriors in her company following her. “Welcome blessed one.” She murmured. “You honor us.”

“Please get up,” Olorin said, taking her arm and lifting her back to her feet. “Truly that is not necessary. Everyone, get up.”

Ilmarien looked for Olorin to Maedhros, who nodded, before signaling the other elves to do as the Maia bid. “Retrieve our arrows and burn the carcasses. I’ll not have their taint in the forrest.” The lady ordered before turning back to Maedhros and Olorin. “Not that I do not appreciate your aide, but why come so far to help deal with a few orc raids?”

“The Valar sent me to help in the fight against the Enemy Lady Ilmarien,” Olorin replied, “Maedhros thought this would be a good place to begin that fight. And this is no mere orc raid. Newcome as I am to Middle Earth, even I can sense there is a shadow growing here.”

“My lady,” a wood elf began, but she fell silent when Ilmarien raised her hand. She nodded. “You are right, Mithrandir. I would bring you to my brother if you are willing.”

The crease on Olorin’s brow eased in relief. “Lead on Lady Ilmarien.”

The company reached the caves of Felegoth by what Ilmarien said was noon a day and a half later.

“Galion, this is Olorin, a servant of Nienna, come with council and aide from the Blessed Realm.” She announced to the elf who met them at the outer gate. “Tell my brother of his arrival and have suitable rooms prepared from him and his companions.” Once the elf had left, she turned to them. “Forgive me Maedhros, but I think it would be best if my brother does not know you are here just yet.”

Olorin opened his mouth to speak, but Maedhros shook his head. “Ilmarien is right. It would help nothing if Thranduil becomes difficult because of me.”

With a nod from Olorin, Ilmarien led them into the caves. If Maedhros had not known Thranduil had lived in Doriath, the halls of Felegoth would had given him that knowledge immediately. The crystals that danced up the cavern walls glowed with starlight, the pale stone of the walls increasing the brightness. Ilmarien lead them through a maze off caverns and halls until they entered a great domed cavern where the king of the Woodland Realm held court. Thranduil wore a crown of summer flowers upon hair that was the same silver shade as his sister’s. His face was cold and solemn, and Maedhros had the sneaking suspicion he knew just who the tall elf his sister brought before him was. At his side sat a golden haired elf woman, also flower-crowned and solemn.

“Who are these that you bring into our kingdom dear sister?” Thranduil asked as they drew close.

Ilmarien stopped a few feet before the throne and inclined her head. “Brother, the blessing of the Valar is upon us. It is my honor to present to you Olorin, a Maia of Nienna, come to give us aide and council.”

Thranduil’s mouth twitched. “A Maia? This gray-clad pilgrim is a Maia?”

Almost immediately, the air around them seemed to grow tighter as Olorin seemed to grow greater. Ilmarien gripped Maedhros’ arm; it was all he could do not to cower as well as Olorin revealed this tiny fraction of his power. Thranduil was a different story: he had shrank back against the throne, unable to look at Olorin.

“Low indeed have the Sindar fallen, if this is the welcome a guest receives in the king’s hall. Things would be shamed to see his kin act thus.” Olorin boomed. “Only a fool judges a stranger by the outward garb, Thranduil son of Oropher. I would have thought the Eldar had learned that lesson after Celebrimbor.”

“Forgive my husband my lord,” the elf queen said, visibly shaken. “He was merely surprised, no disrespect was meant.”

The air relaxed, but even then it was a few more minutes until Ilmarien released her grip on his arm. Nearly everyone in the hall appeared to be in some state of shock.

“Has he ever done that before?” She whispered.

Maedhros shook his head. “No.”

Thranduil rose to his feet, steady on his feet if somewhat paler. “I apologize Lord Olorin. My wife speaks true- I would not expect a messenger of the Valar to have an appearance such as yours.”

“If my task is to offer council, then this form is best suited to that task.” Olorin grumbled. “There is no need to call me ‘lord’. Your sister called me Mithrandir, and there is truth enough in that name that it will suit me.”

“As you wish… Mithrandir.” Thranduil’s eyes flicked towards Maedhros. “But I would know why you and a son of Fëanor have come to my realm.”

Olorin bristled even as the court grumbled under their breath. “I would caution you against passing judgment about my traveling companions Thranduil. We have come because word reached us of a growing shadow that has fallen upon these woods.”

The queen set her hand upon Thranduil’s arm and the couple exchanged unspoken words in their look. She then turned to Olorin. “We welcome your council on this matter Mithrandir, but I would offer you and your companions rest first.”

“You are most gracious Queen Lothiwen.” Olorin replied with a bow.

Maedhros looked down to see that Ilmairen had set her hand upon his arm again. “Follow me,” She murmured, “unless you wish to walk the gauntlet.”

They made their way towards a small doorway off to the side of the throne, leaving Olorin speaking with the king and queen. The corridor they walked down was largely empty, for which Maedhros found himself grateful.

“I would not tell Mithrandir this,” Ilmarien began, “but I am impressed he was able to cow my brother so quickly.” She saw the look Maedhros gave her. “Do not mistake me- I love my brother dearly, but Thranduil can be obstinate to the point of folly.”

“Is that why you did not wish to announce me when we arrived?”

she nodded. “Partly. Thranduil tends to cling to whatever impression he first forms about someone, whether he has actually met them or not-”

“Adarneth!”

Ilmarien and Maedhros turned to see the young elf boy running up to them. He charged into Ilmarien and wrapped her into a hug with such force that Maedhros was surprised that she kept to her feet.

“There’s my little leaf!” She laughed, mussing the lad’s hair. “How have you been dear one?”

“I finally split two arrows!” He seemed before taken notice of Maedhros. Ilmarien grinned.

“Lord Maedhros, this is my nephew Legolas.” She looked down at the boy. “Legolas, this is Maedhros, come from Imladris.”

Maedhros smiled down at the elf lad, who was gawping at him. “Mae govannen Legolas. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“How tall are you?” Legolas blurted, and Maedhros heard Ilmarien stifle a laugh next to him.

“What kind of greeting is that?” She gently chided. “Run along now. I promise you will have plenty of time for questions at the evening meal.”

As the boy scampered down the hall, Ilmarien turned to Maedhros. “Shall we? There shouldn’t be anymore interruptions before we arrive at the guest rooms.”

“How old is your nephew?” Maedhros asked as they walked.

“Half a century young than Celebrian’s little girl. That would be what, seven centuries?” She smiled. “He is a sweet boy. Thank Elbereth he takes after his mother that way.” A few minutes later they came to a stop before a flower-carved door. “Here we are. Lothiwen has the rooms kept in readiness at all times, but if there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.”

Maedhros smiled. “Thank you Ilmarien.”

Ilmarien inclined her head. “I’ll see you at supper then. There will be a seat next to me if you wish to take it. Until then.” She turned and left, and Maedhros caught himself staring after her long after she was gone.


	15. Of the Shadowed March, part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros and Co. head out to find the source of the growing malice in the Greenwood.

Within a fortnight of their arrival, Maedhros and Olorin were on the move again, this time accompanied by a contingent of Thranduil’s warriors, lead by his captain, Baranor, and Ilmarien. The aim of their journey was to reach the source of the spreading shadow, which Thranduil’s scouts had reported being in the southern part of the Greenwood. As they made their way through the forrest paths, the gradual sickening of the trees they passed even made the use of scouts obsolete. The hair on the back of Maedhros’ arms and neck began to stand on end and he rubbed at the chill that had settled on his skin; soon enough, he saw that he was not the only elf doing this. He looked over at Olorin, who rode on in a stony silence, a frown deepening with each step his horse took.

“You sense it to, do you not?” He murmured.

Olorin stared straight ahead, but nodded. “The land is poisoned with evil. We have come just in time I think.”

Gwileth bounded up to them, Ilmarien riding up just behind here. “There is a bog five miles ahead of us. Ilmarien says it will take a day to go around it.”

Olorin looked at the elf princess. “You do not go through it?”

She shook her head. “What paths there are shift and change with the wind Mithrandir. It isn’t safe. We would lose more time trying to find them than if we simply go around.” She saw Maedhros frown. “You would risk the bog?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied, his eyes scanning the stretch of gray before them. The land rose up on one side into small rocky hills, the other falling down into the bog with a narrow path between them, “I do not like the idea of being stretched into a column as we will be if we go around.

“And you would like being caught in the bog by the enemy even less. We will send scouts to make sure the path is clear.” She called two names and quietly spoke with the elves who came forward as Olorin turned to Maedhros and Gwileth.

“I fear that whatever choice is made will mean the shredding of blood.” He spoke quietly, not wanting anyone else to hear them. “Stay alert, the both of you.”

\- - -

Their progress around the bog was slow, as Maedhros had feared. The elven force had barely made more than seven miles through the narrow strip before the night became too dark for even their eyes to see the path and the leaders called for camp to be made. Grumbling at a halt that she did not require, Gwileth stated that she was going to scout their surroundings once more and disappeared into the night. A watch was set and the elves found themselves settling into an uneasy quiet. Ilmarien found Maedhros keeping his own watch, noting how he was frowning at the dim flicker of lights that floated over the distant bog.

“We call them dread lights.” She said, coming to the stand next to him. “They are harmless enough on their own for us, but Men…” her voice trailed off for a moment, as if Ilmarien had to consider her next words with care, “do not handle them well.”

Maedhros nodded. “They were in Beleriand as well. The Sindar said they came from Nan Dungortheb, searching for places where slaughter and torment had taken place.

Ilmarien shivered violently. “I would believe it. The plain of Dagorlad is a marsh now, and the dread lights may be found there as well.”

It took a moment for him to place the area. “Where your father fell?” She bowed her head in silent affirmation. “I am sorry.”

They stood there without speaking for some time, just staring out into the dark where the bog lay stretched before them.

“So tell me, once we have rid the Greenwood of this shadow, what will you do?” Ilmarien asked, breaking the silence in a voice that made it clear that was what she wanted to do.

Maedhros smiled wryly. “I hadn’t given it much thought. Olorin might have something in mind, or I might return to Lothlorien or Imladris if he does not. Why do you ask? Is there some other evil you would send me to deal with?”

“No.” To his surprise, her voice was sharp, insistent almost, and all the more noticeable by how much softer it was when Ilmarien spoke again. “I did not mean to suggest that Maedhros, not at all. But I ask because,” here she stopped, sighing heavily, “I do not know how to explain it. It is as if the very trees of the Greenwood have become a hutch to me, a cage trapping me inside.”

“And you fear this?”

She nodded. “I fear that I will be prisoned by them until the sea-longing calls me to Aman. Do not mistake me, Felegoth is my home, and I hold it dear, but-” a dry, harsh laugh escaped her lips, “I am making a mess of this. The purpose of my words is to ask if I might accompany you when you leave here.”

Maedhros stood there, stunned into silence. This was truly the las thing he had ever expected to hear asked of him, much less by one of Thingol’s kindred. Ilmarien mistook his silence however, and turned away. “I understand. Let the matter be forgotten then-”

“No, that is not it!” He caught at her, the cold fingers of his metal hand brushing a bare spot between her bracers and cuirass. “I was just surprised Ilmarien.” Maedhros dropped his hand. “I would not be the cause of ill-will from your brother though.” It was a weak excuse and they both knew it, judging from the way Ilmarien arched a single eyebrow in response. With effort, Maedhros drove the last remaining traces of panic from his face. “I would welcome your company. As would Gwileth.”

A grin split across Ilmarien’s face, making her almost shine in the darkness. Or perhaps that was his own imagining. “Good. That’s settled then.”

Just then, the sound of footfalls sprinting up through the brush made both of them whirl to see who approached. Gwileth was first, Olorin scarcely two steps behind her. While Olorin out of breath was disquieting in itself, it was the sight of Gwileth’s sides heaving, the drip of saliva from her mouth, and the mattedness of her muzzle that could only have come from blood that sent fear flooding into Maedhros.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. “Gwileth, what happened?”

“There is a fell spirit, corrupted and twisted, at the head of two companies of orcs. They are trying to pin us.”

The camp erupted into action within moments; Ilmarien called for Baranor and after a hurried discussion between the five of them, the captain left to deliver orders. Maedhros and Ilmarien headed to the front of the column with Olorin and Gwileth.

“This fell spirit is leading the attack on our front?” Olorin confirmed with Gwileth, who nodded.

“You plan to confront it then?” Maedhros asked, struggling to tighten the bracer on his left arm; Ilmarien brushed his hand aside and did it for him. He gave her a quiet nod of thanks.

“I will provide it enough of an obstacle to occupy its full attention. I would be grateful though if you would keep the orcs from interfering.” Olorin let out a pent up growl of frustration. “This is too much of a coincidence. The enemy knew where we were and when to spring their trap. None of the scouts saw anything?”

Ilmarien shook her head. “No Mithrandir, I swear it.”

Maedhros saw where the question was leading. “You suspect a traitor?”

“Or some other spy that is new to us. Go now,” Olorin clapped them both on the back, “May the light of the Valar guide and shield us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry to end on a cliff note, but fight scenes are not my strong suit and I want to do this one justice :) We'll land right in the thick o it with the next chapter, I promise :)  
As always, your kudos and comments are greatly appreciated and loved!


	16. Of the Shadowed March, part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros and co. fight the Shadow that has infected the Greenwood.

The orc shrieked and charged, its spear aimed for his heart; Maedhros grabbed a splintered stave and threw it like a lance, piercing the orc through the throat. It fell to the ground, choking on its blood. Sword in hand, Maedhros lunged towards an elf who’d slipped in the mud, catching the blow that would have sent the warrior to Mandos on the flat of his blade. The Uruk snarled as Maedhros disengaged, bringing his sword in for the attack as the elf scrambled back to her feet and out of the way. He swung his blade in an arc that the Ururk caught. The impact was jarring. Quickly, Maedhros moved for another attack. He swung low, a gut-strike. His blade sliced through armor and bit into flesh. The Uruk howled in pain and fury, lifting his own blade up above his head. Maedhros spun out of the way, coming up behind his foe to slice at his legs. They circled each other, striking, blocking, striking again. His armor proved true, keeping Maedhros from previous wounds, but he could feel the bruises forming already. Suddenly, the Uruk’s eyes widened and he dropped as Ilmarien withdrew her sword from its back. He offered her his arm, pulling her up and out of the ditch. “Thank you.”

She gave him a short nod. “Their ranks are thinning on our right flank. Either they are retreating or they are going to strengthen the left.”

Maedhros cursed. With the fortune they’d had so far, the orcs were likely going to reinforce those currently besieging Olorin’s position in an attempt to aid the fell spirit. “Let us go then.”

Ilmarien grabbed a horn from a nearby elf and blew two short blasts on it. The fight they faced as they made their way to the left flank was half-hearted, the bare effort their enemy made giving strength to his suspicion. A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and Maedhros turned just in time to see Ilmarien throw a long knife into the eye of an orc who was charging at him.

“Stay alert!” She snapped at him. “I cannot be expected to save you every time!”

“That Uruk was as good as dead,” Maedhros argued, striking the head off of a goblin, “I was about to deliver the killing blow when you stepped in.”

They made their way onto a ridge that overlooked the bog. Light flashed repeatedly several hundred yards off where a figure clad in grew fought with a cloaked shadow. As the two elves had suspected, their enemy was massing here, ready to confront the force lead by Olorin and Baranor. Maedhros turned to Ilmarien, a gleam in his eye that hadn’t been there since his youth.

“What say you to a little competition then, Ilmarien?” Maedhros asked with a grin. “Which of us can kill the most of this filth?”

She smirked at him. “Are you won’t need me to watch your back?” Her face then broke into a wild grin. “There’s plenty for the both of us,” Ilmarien stated, signaling an elf to sound a charge. “May the best elf win!”

“_Lacho calad! Drego morn_!” Maedhros shouted, a cry that was quickly taken up as the elves surged to meet the enemy. They came together in a great clash of steel and flesh. Mud, limbs, and blood flew in the onslaught. Maedhros slashed and hacked at orcs and goblins, hewing heads and limbs from their bodies. Several of the orcs near him saw the light of one of the great lords of the Eldar in his face and fled in terror, only to be cut down as they ran.

_Eight already. Not bad_. Maedhros looked to his right and saw Ilmarien was in the thick of her own bloody work, a trail of at least nine corpses in her wake.

A scream pierced the air then, a high pitched shriek full of malice and evil. The cloaked shadow that fought with Olorin appeared to collapse in on itself. It seemed to happen all at once then; the orcs now fought to escape rather than defeat and the two elvish forces pushed towards on another. Maedhros found himself back to back with Ilmarien at one point.

“Seventeen!” He exclaimed in triumph.

She grinned. “Nineteen.” Ilmarien suddenly gasped and Maedhros turned to see a black arrow had struck her just below her collarbone. With a scream, she slashed at the nearest goblin, carving away half of its face before she fell to one knee. In an instant, Maedhros was kneeling at her side, calling out for help.

“Ilmarien, you need to get up if you can. We need to get you to safety.” He turned at the sound of his name and saw a blood-drenched Gwileth running up to them.

“Follow me!” She barked “Baranor, take command! You four, cover our backs!”

Baranor nodded, shouting out commands to drive the orcs into the bog as four elves split away to guard Maedhros and Ilmarien’s retreat. Every step seemed to drag on; Maedhros eventually carried Ilmarien when she stumbled in the churned earth. Gwileth led them to a fallen tree, which Maedhros set Ilmarien against as gently as he could.

“Gwileth, can you smell if the arrow is poisoned?” He asked. Gwileth leaned closer and sniffed at the wound.

“No, but it is dangerously close to an artery. Move it as little as possible.”

He nodded and took the flask that one of the warrior held out to him. Ripping the hem of his tunic, he poured some of the water onto it and wiped Ilmarien’s face, clearing away as much of the blood and grime as he could.

“Undo my cuirass.” She groaned. “If you need to, cut it away.” In the distance, the triumphant sound of a victory horn rang through the air. Ilmarien smiled weakly. “I take it we won then.”

Maedhros nodded. “Don’t move. We’ll get you back soon enough.”

Ilmarien blinked, her eyelids heavy. “Serves me right for teasing you.” She said with a weary laugh.

\- - -

Olorin found Maedhros and Gwileth outside of the healer’s tent, waiting for word on Ilmarien.

“I see we both survived then.” He sat down in the space Maedhros had made for him on the bench. “How does the lady?”

“The arrow was not poisoned, thank Varda.” Maedhros replied. “But it was barbed. They’ve had some trouble stopping the bleeding.” He looked at his friend. For the first time, Olorin looked exhausted. “How are you? In truth, you look terrible.”

Olorin winced. “Not one to mince your words are you Russanadol? I am fine, though the fight required more strength from me than I thought. Sauron’s malice was strong with his servant.” He saw the alarm on Maedhros face and nodded. “Yes. Our foe was one of the nine fallen kings.”

Maedhros forced himself to relax his hand from the fist he found it clenched in. “You banished his spirit to Mandos then? Why not?” He cried when Olorin shook his head.

“I cannot. His spirit is bound to his master, and so long as Sauron endures upon this earth, so too will he. All I could do was destroy the raiment Sauron had given him and send him back to Mordor.”

“What do we tell Thranduil then?”

Olorin rose to his feet. “To keep watch. The Greenwood is too rich a prize for Sauron to abandon it this easily. Come, Ilmarien is awake. No doubt she wishes to speak with you.” For half a second, Maedhros thought he saw Olorin smirk at him, but the arrival of a healer bearing just that news kept Maedhros from answering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I'm entirely happy with this chapter yet, so it might get tweaked later. As always, your comments and kudos keep me writing!


	17. Of the Return to Eriador

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros returns from Felegoth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I'm sorry about the long wait everyone, but who would have guessed that everything would have gotten so crazy? Anyway, one of the good things about quarantine is that I've got time to write- and as a special thank you for your patience, here's a extra long chapter (who knows, I may split it into two)!

The return to Felegoth was quick, with little celebration of their victory. Thranduil had been in a near panic upon seeing his sister, and in that moment Maedhros feared that the king would blame him or Olorin for Ilmarien’s injury. No sooner had Ilmarien been taken inside and to her chambers however, than Thranduil turned to him, sword-hand outstretched in the Sindar’s gesture of gratitude.

What came next were days spent in council and planning. The king and queen laid out the defense of the Greenwood, mapping out outposts and towers where a watch could be kept for the Enemy’s return. Olorin, they all agreed, would ride south to Amroth’s realm, with the purpose of getting the king of the Golden Wood to establish a watch on the eastern side of the Anduin. Maedhros would return to Imladris and bring word to Elrond to summon a great council. The morning of his departure found him in the stables, completing one last inspection of his horse’s packs and gear.

“Were you going to leave without a proper farewell?”

Maedhros looked up and over the horse’s back to see Ilmarien standing before the stall’s entry. Her hair was unbound, falling down past her waist like a waterfall of ice. She wore a gown of pale blue, cut loose to allow the sling which cradled her left arm. It appeared she had come straight from her bed. Maedhros swallowed hard. “Of course not Ilmarien, I- it was my plan to reach the border of the forest before nightfall. I only wanted to ensure everything was ready for a quick departure.”

Ilmarien stepped up next to him, reaching out with her good hand to stroke the horse’s neck. “The healers have forbidden me from leaving Felegoth until I am fully recovered. You’ll befar from here by then.”

“Imladris is not so far that a skilled warrior like you would find it a challenge.” Maedhros replied. On impulse, he placed his hand atop her own. “If your brother finds he has no need of your aid here, you would be welcome in Elrond’s house.”

She snorted. “My brother will also find a way to need my help. I think the very thought of me adventuring hither and yon would give him fits.” The both smiled at that, and then her fingers laced in-between his as Ilmarien turned away from the horse to face him. “But if you still hold to the words you gave me before the battle, I will find you in Imladris.”

His throat tightened. “You know your history Ilmarien; it cannot be said of any of my father’s sons that we ever broke our word. I will tell Elrond to expect your arrival.”

A bark startled them apart and they looked to see Gwileth waiting in the stable doorway. “Olorin’s looking for you.” She told Maedhros, who was fairly certain he saw a smirk in the hound’s eye. A gentle squeeze on his hand made Maedhros look back at Ilmarien.

“Namarië. Travel safe and swiftly, and may the light of Elbereth shine brightly down upon you.”

His own response seemed clumsy; it wasn’t until they were nearly to Olorin’s rooms that Maedhros realized Gwileth was quietly laughing at him. “What?”

The hound shook her head. “It’s just something Olorin told me. A wager, if you will, that thankfully I didn’t take.”

Maedhros stopped. “A wager about what?”

“Never you mind. Let us simply say that your cousin Galadriel knows the hearts of people better than they do.”

A strange peace settled upon Middle Earth in the years that followed the arrival of the Istari. Upon his return to Imladris, Maedhros set about helping Elrond and Celebrian strengthen the defenses around the valley. Olorin stayed with them for little more than a fortnight before he took the road to Gondor; a month later, Maedhros took the western road to their allies in Cardolan and Arthedain to plan and give council. Six months since his return from Felegoth had passed when a letter from Ilmarien reached him in Annuminas.

_I am writing this letter to you from the court of King Amroth, where my brother has sent me as his representative and emissary. By Elbereth’s grace, my wound has fully healed, but I think my brother sensed something of my plan to join you, for less than a week after the healer removed the final bandages, he called me before the entire court to charge me with the duty I now hold; forgive me, but I could not refuse him, though I know this to be a task meant to occupy me and little else. I cannot bring up my desire to accompany with Celeborn or the king, as Celeborn still mislikes you and Amroth will dance to whatever tune Lord Silver-tree plays. But I still hold out hope; I can at least count on your cousin as an ally. I promise, as soon as Celeborn and my brother let their guard slip, I will ride to you._

Her letter went on to tell him that Olorin had passed through the Golden Wood accompanied by Curumo and to ask him to pass on her greetings to Gwileth. He was glad at least to have an answer as to what had delayed Ilmarien; the fear that she had changed her mind had begun to creep upon him. Maedhros and Gwileth left Annuminas shortly after, reaching Imladris just before the first snows of winter began. In late spring, word came from the watchtowers near Caradhras of a strange people, man-like in their shape and appearance though half the size, crossing through the gate. Elrond sent out scouts who returned reports that the strangers had settled for now in the western vales along the river. That summer was bright and verdant, its joy lasting long into the years that followed. With the land at peace, Maedhros took the twins out on hunts and taught Arwen how to shoot a bow from horseback it was a golden time, which made it easy to put aside thoughts of the shadow in the east or the unrest that was growing up between Cardolan, Rhudaur, and Arthedain. He crossed the mountains and rode south to Gondor, joining the king to inspect the monuments currently being north of the Falls of Rauros on the kingdom’s northern border. He had hoped to see Ilmarien by taking the road through Lórinand, but she was not there, Amroth having entrusted her with a message for her brother. Despite Celegorm’s voiced regret, the way Galadirel’s mouth twitched told Maedhros that Ilmarien’s errand had been intentional on the king’s part.There was naught for it, save the exchanging of letters. He returned to Imladris once more, hunting with Gwileth to pass the days. Two hundred years passed since the arrival of the Istari and fifty since last he had been in Imladris, or Rivendell as men were now calling it, when Olorin rode in like a grey storm. The merry music that played in the Hall of Fire died away upon his entrance; Arwen shrank against her mother as he drew near.

Elrond rose to his feet. “Mithrandir, what is it? What is wrong?”

Olorin’s eyes flashed. “The Nine have returned. The Witch-king himself has crossed the Misty Mountains and is marching North beyond the Ettenmoors.”

Maedhros walked along the northern ramparts of the fortress, Gwileth trotting at his side. Shadows loomed over the mountains, seeming to grow with each passing day. Their scouts had reported that the lands beyond the mountains had withered and died, confirming the presence of the Nazgul. Troops of orcs and goblins had been seen as well, making their way through mountain passes north to a great citadel that was under construction. The forces of the Free People had not been idle either; the king of Arthedain had sent an army north to garrison the new-built fortress of Fornost. They had been waiting to greet the force lead by Glorfindel and Maedhros from Imladris and the army sent from Cardolan.

“Tell me Maedhros, what do your elf eyes see?” Maedhros started at Olorin’s voice, which got a bark of laughter from Gwileth. “The Enemy seems quiet tonight.”

Maedhros ruffled Gwileth’s head, which she hated. “They are, though I will feel more peace once the last scout returns.”

Olorin shivered. “Ach, these cold nights are cruel on my bones. I will wait for the scout with you if we may wait indoors beside a fire.”

“Of course my friend.” The three of them made their way down from the ramparts and towards the tower where Maedhros and Glorfindel’s quarters were. The squire that the king of Arthedain had assigned to see to the elf lord’s rooms had already built a fire in the hearth and set a tray with wine and food upon a nearby table. There was even a meaty bone left for Gwileth, who grabbed it and laid down by the hearth with a contented sigh to eat.

“The boy does his job well.” Olorin said approvingly after tasting the wine. “I think this is from the king’s personal stores.”

Maedhros smiled. “In truth, I think he is slightly terrified of me. He worked up the courage the other day to ask if Elros had been as tall as me.”

Olorin chuckled. “Well, the height of the men of Numenor is legend. They were said to be the tallest of Eru’s children.” Both of them shook their heads in amusement. “What think you of the king of Cardolan’s plan?”

The fire cracked as Maedhros considered his words. “It is folly. While our forces were tied up marching north to Carn Dum, Eriador would be left defenseless. Rhudaur has not joined us yet; the suspicion has grown on me that they merely wait to see if they can take bits of Cardolan and Arthedain while we are distracted.”

“I agree. Still, the foolish man has been threatening to take his forces and march north alone if we do not join him; I have half a mind to strike him on the head with my staff.” He leaned against the back of his chair. “The wiser course would be to establish two fortresses on the main passes through the mountains to seal the Enemy within.”

“Mayhap, but you will never get the two kings to agree to it.” Maedhros warned. “Arthedain is already complaining that he has contributed more than Cardolan to the defense of Eriador.” He rose and walked over to the table where he had laid out maps, motioning for Olorin to join him. “Elrond and Celebrian hold the eastern slopes of the Misty Mountains, but if Rhudaur turns against us, I fear that our lines are spread too thin.”

Olorin picked up a figure, turning it in his hands as he examined it. “If Rhudaur will not join with us, we must ensure that they will not strike against us then. The watchtower at Amon Sûl is garrisoned still, is it not?”

“It is.”

“With the palantiri there and in Annuminas, Rhudaur is watched closely enough. Still, it would be helpful if Amroth and Thranduil would send some aid at least.”

Maedhros stiffened, sensing the message hidden in Olorin’s words, but not wanting to have the conversation it would begin. “It would; they have chosen to focus their strength in the east though.”

Olorin watched the elf carefully, not sharing the news that Galadriel had sent him concerning Ilmarien’s rages against Celeborn. Maedhros might keep his emotions closer to his heart, but the maia could see the same ones Galadriel saw in her own friend. “That may change though.”

Maedhros raised his glass to Olorin and the two of them turned back to the maps.


	18. Of the Arrival of the Periannath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros meets an interesting new people :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy everyone! As always, if you like it, leave a comment or a kudos <3

The stag bounded across the glen, with Gwileth in hot pursuit as Maedhros urged his horse forward; surefooted as the mare was, the ground was filled with little hillocks that slowed her to a walk. It reached the point where he knew he would go faster afoot and dismounted, letting the mare crop at the thick grass. Ahead of them, towards what appeared to be a small hollow in the land, Gwileth barked; Maedhros took bow and quiver from his saddle and hurried forward. When he came upon Gwileth, she stood over the dead stag, sniffing at it suspiciously.

“It ran in here and just dropped.” She told him. “Something struck it I think.”

Maedhros knelt next to the stag to inspect it. There was no arrow or spear, no sign of a trap that had wounded the beast, only the slightest trickle of blood dripping from one of its nostril. His fingers felt along its head until they found the cut. It was small, the size of a small rock. “Something did strike it.” He murmured to Gwileth, slipping an arrow from his quiver. “A stone of some sort I think. We are not alone.” There was the barest quiver of movement in some bushes thirty yards ahead of them. “Whoever is there,” he called in the common tongue of man, “Be you orc or man, come out now or die.”

“Well, why don’t you be lowering that bow first? Elsewise, we’ll do for you what we did for that there stag.”

Gwileth sniffed the air and sneezed. “They are not orcs,” she said. “What they are, I’m not sure, but I smell no orcs. Go ahead and do as it said.”

Maedhros nodded. “Very well, _randiri_,” He slowly knelt and set his bow and quiver on the ground. “I’ve set my weapons down. Come out then.”

The bushes rustled and suddenly, out came two children. At least, at first glance, he thought them to be children. As they drew closer, Maedhros saw that though they were child-sized in stature, their plump features were akin to an older youth. They were dressed in yellows and greens, though they worse no boots upon their feet. Indeed, the only cover he could see was hair that was nearly as curly as that upon their heads.

“You’re one of them pointy-ears, aren’t you?” The larger of the two said.

Taken aback at first, Maedhros had to stifle a smile. “I am an elf, yes. My name is Maedhros, of the House of Finwë. What are you called?”

The shorter one took a step forward. “My name is Labingi,” the creature said before nodded to his companion. “And this is my cousin, Tûk. We were looking for mushrooms when the stag came running through here. There’s enough of us to feed, so we thought we’d take a chance on it.”

Maedhros surveyed the short little men, for they could be nothing else. “Forgive me, but what are you? By shape, you appear to be men, but your stature would give lie to that.”

“We’re hobbits. The big-folk call us halflings.” Tûk said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I thank you.” Maedhros said, bowing his head. “One other question though: the stag. How do you plan to carry it? It is more than thrice your size.”

Labingi sighed. “Yes, well, we will think of something I suppose.”

“Nonsense. Gwileth, would you bring my horse?” Gwileth nodded and trotted off back to where Maedhros had left the mare. “I shall help you.” A few moments later, Gwileth returned with the mare, who Maedhros soon had loaded with the stag’s carcass. “Lead on Master Bag-end.”

Labingi looked up at Maedhros quizzically. “Bag end?”

“It is what your name name means in the tongue of Numenor.” He explained awkwardly. “Forgive me, it was assumptive of me.”

Tûk snorted, earning himself an elbow from his cousin as the group made their way over a large hillock and down into a dell. Labingi turned back to Maedhros as they walked. “No, no, not assumptive at all. In fact, I rather think it sounds better that way.”

Gwileth’s ears suddenly pricked up at some distant sound. “Their camp is up ahead.” She told Maedhros. Both Labingi and Tûk blinked.

“The hound talked.” Tûk stated.

Maedhros smiled at him. “This is Gwileth, a hound of Vallinor.”

“Do all elves’ hounds talk?” Labingi asked.

“Only those who are part of the Huntsman’s pack.” Gwileth replied, sniffing the air. “Oh something smells wonderful!” They hurried down into the dell and towards a cluster of tall boulders near a copse of trees. Upon entering the copse, Maedhros found himself surrounded by twenty or thirty hobbits, both young and old, all curly haired and barefooted. The hobbits stared as Maedhros and Gwileth passed by them, Labingi and Tûk leading the newcomers towards a particularly old and venerable looking hobbit woman. Her hair was white as feather down, her face wrinkled with time and mirth.

“Well now, what is this lads? As I understood it, you were looking for mushrooms, and yet you bring a guest and deer with you.”

“Mother Calendula,” Labingni began, “Our guest is a elf, called Maedhros. He was also hunting this stag and agreed to help us bring it here.”

As the old woman seemed to be their leader, Maedhros bowed as he would to any of the kings of men; the gesture amused Mother Calendula, who motioned for him to sit next to her.

“Come now longshanks, take the weight of the road off your feet.” She smiled wickedly. “The air is also less thin down here.”

With no chairs or stools save that which the old woman sat in, Maedhros eased himself on the ground, crossing his legs into an X as he did, so as not to trip any of the hobbits. “Have you and your folk settled here, Mother Calendula?”

She nodded. “For now, though I do not think we will remain here long. The ground is too rocky for farming. Would you take tea master elf?” A hobbit girl had brought forward two cups; in Mother Calendula’s hands, they were large, but it was comically small in Maedhros’s hands. He could smell mint and cornflower in the brew and tasted honey when he sipped it. “With all the big folk marching about, we seek a quieter place.”

Maedhros nodded. “We ready ourselves against the enemy in the north. If it is peace you seek, I would not stay here.” He took another sip of the tea and caught sight of a hobbit child timidly approaching Gwileth. She licked the little girl’s hand as soon as she was close enough, eliciting a giggle from the child. “These lands belong to the king of Arthedain. He would grant you his protection if you were to seek it.”

Mother Calendula mused for a moment. “And where is this king then? What would he ask of us in exchange for his protection?”

“You say you are farmers? Perhaps a small amount of the harvest.” Maedhros picked up a small stick from the ground and began to draw a map in the dirt. “To the southwest of the Greyflood is another river called the Baranduin. The land west of it is thick and green and fertile. Were you to ask to settle there, I have no doubt that the king would agree. Most of his farmer have come north to defend the border.”

“Truly?” Mother Calendula leaned back against her chair. “Well then master elf, where might we find this king you speak of?”

Maedhros told the old woman how to get to the fortress of Fornost, offering to act as guide. By the time the hobbits evening meal had been set before them and eaten, it had been decided that Maedhros would take Mother Calendula’s nephew and heir, along with Tûk and Labingi, back to Fornost to petition the king. The journey back was quiet, plagued by nothing worse than a little rain one day. As Maedhros had suspected, the king was all too happy to allow the hobbits to settle west of the Baranduin; the fields were too rich to be allowed to fallow as they currently were. A letter from Mother Calendula was brought to Maedhros some weeks later, stating that they had arrived in the lands and had begun digging their homes into the hills, inviting him to visit as soon as the houses were suitable for guests. The letter had made him smile, a welcome thing with the cold north wind blowing ill tidings south. Against all advice, the king of Cardolan had sent the bulk of his forces across the mountains to engage the enemy. They had walked into an ambush from which less than a third returned. The enemy would be emboldened by this victory, Maedhros knew, as would Rhudaur. The storm of war was near to breaking.


	19. Of the Fall of Amon Sul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the realm of Angmar rises...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always guys, kudos and comment are lovely (comments are especially helpful) :)

It was the late watches of the night when the messenger road in, both rider and horse half-dead from battle and exhaustion. He had refused to give hismessage to anyone save Maedhros, who had sprinted down to the healer’s quarters at a speed that had terrified the human soldiers in . Now standing before the cot where the man lay bleeding, Maedhros could only stare at the rider in disbelief and horror after hearing the news he carried.

“Cardolan’s army is destroyed?”

The rider coughed, a wet and bloody sound. “Aye my lord. The king is dead, slain by the Witch King. Angmar is marching towards Amon Sûl.”

The king of Arthedain leaned in towards the rider. “What of the queen and prince? Where are they?”

“King sent them to Rivendell and Lord Elrond. We’d just gotten word that they’d arrived.” The man coughed, spattering the blanket with blood as the healer hurried forward with damp clothes and medic.

“My lord, please, if you’ve had all you need from this man, let me do my work.”

Maedhros nodded to the healer and pulled the king to his feet. “Come. We are of no help here.” He waited until they were both out of the healer’s quarters before he spoke again. “I will take a vanguard east at once. You must follow within the day with the rest of your army. If Angmar continues south, they will take the Trollshaws and then attack Imladris. Elrond cannot hold against Rhudaur and the Witch King, not without aid.”

“Agreed. May the grace of Valar go with you my lord.” The clasped arms and left, Maedhros calling out for the elvish captains, the king calling for his own. By dawn, the gates opened with a groan as Maedhros lead his company charging out to the sound of trumpets. They rode hard, reaching the outskirts of the crossroads village by late afternoon, where they rested the horses and Maedhros summoned his captains to plan strategy. He wished Gwileth were there to scout, but she had decided to remain in Imladris a little longer on their last visit, and now she would be unable to cross the Bruinen. The moon was full and bright when it rose and the company set off again in the cool of the night. A day after the messenger had come, the acrid stench of burning and battle reached Maedhros, growing stronger with every mile. He halted the company as they waited for the return of the scouts, but dawn had barely broken when they saw the dark column of smoke rising to the northeast. Dread filled Maedhros like a heavy weight at its sight; there was only one thing that lay in that direction that could send up that much smoke. The return of the scouts confirmed his worst fears.

“They have taken the hill- Amon Sûl burns!”

Maedhros nodded and turned to his captains. “Ingion, approach from the southeast, Endien the southwest. I will take the center. Wait for my signal.” The captains bowed, and leaped onto their horses. “The Valar guard you all.” As they galloped off, Maedhros mounted his own horse and called for the herald. His force galloped to the crest of a small hill and waited. Before them, the bloated and torn remains of Cardolan’s army lay strewn across the land as the Angmarim forces began to gather at the base of the great hill. Maedhros could sense the presence of the Witch King at the summit, somewhere among the smoke-stained ruins of the watchtower. He turned his mount so that he faced his soldiers.

“Strengthen your hearts! The day has not yet come that evil fears not the swords of the Eldar!” Drawing his word , he held it high and gleaming in the dawn light. “_Lenna_!”

They came together with the enemy in a crash, a wall of hooves and steel slamming into them. The Angmarim forces made them fight for every inch of land; no sooner had one foe been dispatched than two more seemed to take their place. As his forces neared the base of the hill, the terrain grew too rocky to continue on horse, and Maedhros leapt down, striking off the head of an orc as he did. “To me!” He bellowed over the din of battle. “To me!” They pressed on an upwards for another bloody hour when a wailing shriek pierced the sky. From the summit of Amon Sûl, a winged beast took flight. Maedhros stared after the beast, not needing to see the rider on its back to know that the Witch King had left the battle. He let out a curse and charged upwards, slashing and hacking at the enemy; some orcs threw themselves from the hill rather than meet his blade. _Take care_ a voice in his head said _you will overextend the line. _The orc’s mace caught him in there gut, sending Maedhros falling backwards onto the soldiers behind him. Any armor but that of elvish make would have seen his ribs crushed by the force of such a blow; even so, he could tell at least two of his ribs were cracked or broken. His hand came away from his side wet and red; he didn’t even remember the blow that had given him that wound. Battle fury took over and Maedhros lunged forward, slashing at the orc before driving his sword into its chest. The pain in his ribs surged, forcing Maedhros to his knees.

“My lord, you’ve wounded!” An archer appeared at Maedhros side.

“Where are Ingion and Endien?” Maedhros muttered, each breath sending stabbing bolts of pain into him.

“Endien is a little further down, but Ingion draws near. Captain!” Maedhros looked over in the direction the archer called to see Ingion running towards them.

“Lord Maedhros!”

“We keep the summit encircled until Arthedain arrives. Take command.” The captain bowed and then began barking out orders. The archer helped Maedhros back and towards the relative safety and the healers at the base of the hill; by the time they reached it, the air filled with the clear ringing of Arthedain’s battle trumpets. It was evening when the king and the captains came to Maedhros in the healers’ tents. Their news was grim: the Palantir of Amon Sûl had been taken by the enemy. The thought of one of his father’s creations in the hands of a creature like the Witch King made Maedhros pale with fury, much to the healer’s alarm.

“Lord Maedhros calm yourself! You’ve lost too much blood.” The healer turned to the king and captains. “My king, if you cannot let a wounded man in peace, you will need to go.”

The king held up his hands. “Peace, good mistress, peace. We will take better care.”

“I need to ride to Imladris.” Maedhros groaned. “Elrond needs to know, we have to get word to Gondor.” His ribs sent another stabbing jolt into him and he fell back into the cot.

The king shook his head. “It wouldn’t do for you to die on the way there. I’ll send my fastest riders.”

It was a full week before the chief healer allowed Maedhros from her care. Though his ribs were not yet healed, as soon as he was out of the tent, he called for a horse and headed towards the east road to Imladris. He’d ridden for an hour when the sound of riders coming up behind him lead Maedhros to guide his horse off the road; the company of ten

riders under Arthedain’s banner came into view a few minutes later. He rode back onto the road and hailed them.

“Lord Maedhros,” their captain greeted pulling up alongside him, “We’ve been sent to escort you to Rivendell. Our king bid me tell you that even though you know the secret ways into the valley, he will not chance some ambush from Rhudaur.”

Maedhros sighed and winced. “It was only two broken ribs and a simple sword cut. Believe me, I’ve had worse.” He heard a stifled snort come from a few riders behind the captain; clearly the irony of his statement had not been lost. They rode on, crossing the bridge in the earlier afternoon. There were signs of battle all around them, though the charred corpses of the dead all bore the sigil of Rhudaur. Maedhros turned to the captain. “We are near enough to the first of Imladris’ outposts that we can make it by dark if we ride hard.”

The captain nodded. “Then we ride hard.”

They reached the outpost shortly after sunset, the horses lathered with sweat. Maedhros quickly learned from the elves there that Rhudaur’s force had been soundly defeated and the remnants driven back across the river shortly after their own battle at Amon Sûl. At the first light of dawn, Maedhros and his escort were on the road again, reaching the Fords shortly before noon and then the pass into the valley two hours after the crossing. Elrond met them at the stables.

“Well met, all of you.” He turned to Maedhros and said in Quenya, “You look terrible.”

With a wince, Maedhros gave him a tired smile. “I feel terrible, to tell you the truth.”

“You should, you reckless idiot!” Gwileth came bounding up to him and thrust her nose into his hand. “You know better than to charge ahead like that!”

Her scolding done and the escort sent to the guest houses, the three of them returned to the house. Celebrian, the twins, and Arwen greeted them, but all could see the weariness on Maedhros’ face. Once in Maedhros’ chambers, Elrond inspected the healer’s work.

“She was thorough.” He said when he finished. “There’s naught else I could do now other than tell you to rest. You know you shouldn’t have ridden so soon.”

Gwileth huffed her agreement as Maedhros gave an apologetic shrug. “I know, but I had to be sure word reached you of the palantir.”

Elrond nodded, his face grim. “It did. Messengers have already been sent down to Gondor, but I would send you to follow them once you are fully healed.” He left Maedhros shortly thereafter, and soon enough, Maedhros had sunk into a deep slumber. His dreams took him to Aman and his mother’s workshop. Nerdanel was working on a sculpture, with Maglor playing his harp in the corner with Almárië and the Ambarussa building a contraption of some sort as a dark-haired elf handed them tools. Nerdanel sensed her eldest son’s fea and turned to say something to the new elf. Maedhros started to see Caranthir’s face after so many centuries, but his brother had at last been allowed to leave Mandos. Joy surged in Maedhros even as his mother’s workshop faded. A song filled his dreams then, flowing like a summer breeze through a forest or water over stones in a brook. It was a song of healing and growing things. Maedhros felt himself drawn back into wakefulness by it, but the song grew louder the closer he got to waking. He open his eyes, blinking, trying to find the source of the song. To his astonishment, Ilmarien sat at his bedside; she was the singer.

“Am I still dreaming?”

The song halted and she smiled. “No, I’m real enough. How are you feeling?”

He tried to sit up and decided against it as his ribs protested. “Still a little sore. What are you doing here?”

Ilmarien leaned closer to him. “Your cousin convinced Amroth that my brother needed a representative in Imladris more than in the Golden Wood. I arrived here a week before Rhudaur’s first attack.” Her face saddened. “It is true then, the Witch King took the Amon Sûl stone?”

Maedhros nodded. “I was sent back to fight the enemy, and now his greatest servant has a terrible weapon at his disposal.”

A small frown wrinkled her brow. “You cannot blame yourself for that. Elrond had told the king to move the stone but he refused the council. It is thanks to you that the Witch King was driven back north.”

The door to the chamber opened and Erestor entered carrying a tray with cloths and bottles. “Lady Ilmarien, what are you doing here?” He said, clearly startled at her presence. “Lord Elrond’s orders were for Lord Maedhros to rest.”

Ilmairen, took his hand in farewell. “I have my orders then. You do not know all ends; perhaps Edu’s plan involves the enemy possessing a palantir. So long as you fight against the enemy, you are doing the task that was set to you.” She paused, as if she were in a silent debate with herself, and then leaned down to kiss Maedhros’ brow. “Qildi seldonya.” She rose, bowed her head to Erestor, and left.

Maedhros blinked. Never had he thought to hear Quenya spoken by a Sindar; where had she learned it? He took the tonic that Erestor had brought, drank it, and fell asleep to the memory of Ilmarien’s singing.


	20. Of the Great Plague

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros rides to Gondor as the Shadow starts to grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready to go to Gondor? It's a shorter chapter today since we will be in Gondor for a little while. Hope you enjoy!

A further fortnight passed before Elrond pronounced Maedhros’ wounds healed. He left his rooms that morning and made his way into the gardens at the base of the hill that the last homely house stood on. Ilmarien was talking with Celebrian, with Arwen skipping ahead of them to pick flowers. With their silver hair, Maedhros was struck by how much the two women looked like sisters. Arwen was the one who spotted him coming up the path first.

“Uncle! You’re well!” He laughed as she crashed into him with a hug.

“Dear one, take care!” Celebrian gently chided, “You’ll send him back to the healers.”

Maehdros smiled at her. “It is alright Celebrian. With Elrond’s skill, there’s little chance of that.”

Celebrian smiled in return and set her hand on Arwen’s shoulder. “Come along sweetling. Let us go and practice your harp.” She gave Ilmarien an expression that could only be described as a smirk.

“It is good to see you back on your feet.” Ilmarien said once mother and daughter were gone. “Did you really charge uphill into a throng of orcs alone though?”

Maedhros grimaced, judging from her tone that a scolding was coming. “I did. Please, Gwileth has already taken me to task for it.”

Ilmarien nodded, grinning. “Good.” She stepped to his right side and wove her arm through his. “Come and walk with me.”

As they made their way onto the grassy paths of the garden, Maedhros couldn’t help but notice the scent of jasmine and rose Ilmarien wore, nor the way that bluish-green of her gown reminded him of a waterlily the way that the skirt swept the ground. Her hair hung down her back like a waterfall of silver, held back only by a slender band shaped into a chain of golden flowers. He found himself distracted by her. “You and Celebrian seem close as sisters.” He finally commented as a way of occupying his mind.

She smiled. “In our way we are, I suppose. I was still young when the Last Alliance marched to Mordor, and my father sent me to live with Galadriel for my safety. Your cousin is like a second mother to me and Celebrian a little sister.”

“How long did you live with them?” This close to her, Maedhros noticed the silver ear cuff that wrapped around her ear like a flowering vine.

Ilmarien’s fingers trailed over some foxglove. “For the better part of a century after the war. Thranduil did not want me to return to our home until he made sure it was secure.”

They made their way along the stream to where it disappeared into a thick copse of willow and mulberry. Ilmarien looked at Maedhros and grinned. “Come on. I want to show you something.” She led him towards the copse, lifting a willow branch like a curtain. The stream pored over a series of little waterfalls and into a deep pool. So thick were the trailing willow leaves and mulberry branches that the pool was completely hidden from what few passersby might walk down this far.

“How did you find this place?” Maedhros asked; there was no way that a person could find this place unless they knew it was there.

“Celebrian told me of it. She found it quite by accident after she and Elrond married. She brought him once, but he said the water ran too cold here for him.” Ilmarien grinned up at him. “Perhaps it comes of his Noldor blood. Would you care to find out?”

Maedhros frowned a little. “What?”

Ilmarien twisted her hair into a plait and undid her belt. “You do swim do you not?” As her gown fell to the ground and she stood on the grass in her smallclothes, Maedhros felt his face begin to burn. Ilmarien laughed, ran a few steps, and dove into the pool. “Come on!”

A quick moment’s hesitation and Maedhros fumbled with the straps on his hand and stripped down to his breeches before jumping into the pool as Ilmarien let out a joyous shriek as water went over her head. The water was cool, but not cold, and clear as crystal. Maedhros came up to the surface only for Ilmarien to splash him, which began a water fight that ended when her plait came undone. Her hair fell down around her in a streaming curtain. They swam across to the opposite end of the pool where a cleft in the rocks formed a seat.

“I can’t remember the last time went swimming.” Maedhros said with a laugh.

“Wouldn’t have known that.” Ilmarien replied as she twisted her hair over her shoulder. “I swim here almost everyday; you’re welcome to join me.”

Their eyes met, grey and blue locked in on each other. Without thinking, Maedhros set his hand against Ilmarien’s cheek; she leaned her head into it, kissing the palm. He tasted gooseberries and honey on her lips. They swam a little more before climbing out to dry on the sun-warmed grass.

“I go to Gondor next.” Maedhros said. “Will you come with me?”

Ilmarien turned to look at him, a quizzical smile on her lips. “I thought that was already understood. You did agree to let me come with you back in Felegoth.”

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Well, you were sent here to represent your brother.”

“Did you seriously believe that?” She said, grinning at him mischievously. “Your cousin came up with the idea. Honestly, I think Galadriel is a romantic at heart.”

“She takes after her brother in that.” Maedhros smiled back. “Oath or no, Finrod would have helped Beren to win Luthien.”

Ilmarien shifted closer to him. “What were your cousins like? I’ve heard the tales and songs, but Galadriel spoke rarely of her family.”

Maedhros thought for a moment. “Well, when it came to the cousins, Finrod, Turgon, and I were the responsible ones.”

“But wasn’t Fingon the eldest of Fingolfin’s sons?”

“Yes, but he was just as likely to go along with some scheme the younger ones thought up. Aredhel and he used to tease Turgon without mercy.” He told her of life before the Oath, of the brief respite of peace in Beleriand. The sun was climbing towards the west when they finally left the pool. If either of them noticed the knowing smirk on Celebrian’s face or the slightly confused looks that Elrond shot at both of them, they ignored it.

By month’s end, Maedhros, Ilmarien, and Gwileth were on the southern road, riding through the ruins and holly trees of Eregion. The early spring weather was sunny and fair, making for an easy journey.They were nearing the turn that would take them to Khazad Dum’s western gate when Ilmarien brought her mare up short.

“As much as I would enjoy the hospitality of the dwarves, if we go through Khazad Dum, we will have to pass Lórinand as well. I’d rather not have Celeborn glaring at us. Why not go through the Gap of Calenardhon instead?”

Maedhros thought on what Ilmarien hadn’t said. “You think Celeborn would send word back to your brother?”

She grimaced. “He might mention it. And while my brother has no quarrel with you, he would feel compelled to insist I return to either Imladris, or more than likely Felegoth. I take it isn’t this way with the Noldor, but my people are annoyingly guarding of unwed maidens.”

“But you are not a child.” It seemed strange to state something so obvious.

“And if I had to guess, that is one of the reasons Galadriel decided to help.” Gwileth added, to which Ilmarien nodded.

Maedhros sighed. “You know word is bound to reach your brother eventually. I’ve no wish to earn his ire.”

Ilmarien patted his arm. “Nor will you. By the time he does get wind of where I am, we shall have done deeds of such renown that he will find it impossible to gainsay me.”

With a grin and a shake of his head, Maedhros turned his horse south again. “The Gap of Calenardhon it is then.”

They reached the gates of Osgiliath a month later; as they were led from the high stables to the court of the king, Maedhros could not help but notice the unnatural quiet of the city. He was not alone in this.

“Something is wrong.” Ilmarien muttered. “There were few people on the streets, and those who were seemed to hurry about like frightened rabbits.”

Gwileth let out a growl in agreement. “The air is tainted in this city.”

Maedhros nodded. “We will find out soon enough I think.” At that moment a lord dressed in the black and silver of the royal house stepped towards them.

“Welcome and well met Lord Maedhros, and to your companions as well. I am Tarondor, the nephew of King Telemnar. My uncle has sent me to escort you to his private quarters.”

Ilmarien frowned a little. “He is not in the throne room?”

Tarondor shook his head. “No lady. I- I dare not not speak of it here. If you would come with me, all shall be explained.” They followed the young man in a growing silent dread. As they passed through a large open courtyard, Ilmarien let out a horrified gasp at the sight of the white tree that stood at the center. Without a word to any of them, she hurried over to the tree and began to touch the mottles dark marks on the trunk and turn over the drooping and yellowed leaves on its boughs.

“What evil is this?” She whispered when the others came within earshot.

“The sorrow of our kingdom.” All of them turned to see another man, dressed richly in sable and silver walking towards them. His appearance however, contrasted with his garments. The man seemed shrunken and thin, weary and aged beyond his years with a heard that was more silver than raven. When Tarondor bowed, Maedhros realized with shock that this man was the king. “The tree began to wither at the new year, shortly before our people began to grow sick as well. Now, the plague lies on the borders of the city itself and the White Tree is dying.”

Maedhros felt his stomach curdle in dread. “Plague?”

King Telemnar nodded, grief etched across his face. “Ithilien and Belfalas have already seen death on a scale that beggars belief. The dead there lie in their houses, for there are not enough left alive to bury them all.”


	21. Of the death of kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros witnesses the ravages of the Great Plague

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With all that is going on the the world with Covid-19, this chapter actually became a little hard for me to write, as it felt as thought I were living the story. I'm glad it is finally written and done. Stay safe out there friends!

The plague hit Osgiliath like a dark storm; no house was left untouched. The king himself fell victim to it, leaving the rule of Gondor to his nephew. Maedhros and Ilmarien did what they could to, helping what few healers remained prepare medicines and tend the sick. It was a loosing battle. Soon enough, the very air seemed tainted with the stench of burning flesh as the dead were burned in large graves far outside of the city. Maedhros was assisting Tarondor in organizing what guardsmen could stand when a messenger came announcing the arrival of the Greyhame. Though the name was strange to him, the relief Maedhros saw on Tarondor’s face was enough to give him hope. To his astonishment, Olorin was ushered in.

“Gandalf! By the Valar, you are most welcome here!” Tarondor seemed to be on the verge of tears. “Whatever aide you can give us, whatever counsel, please tell me!”

Olorin bowed his head in greeting to Maedhros before turning to Tarondor. “Thank you for your welcome. I saw on my way to the king’s house that you have placed a quarantine upon the city. That was well done. But how are the supplies holding out?”

They spoke of food rations, the number of healers still alive, supply lines, and border patrols until the evening bell rang and Tarondor excused himself to return to his own family. When he was gone, Maedhros turned to Olorin.

“Gandalf? Is that what they are calling you now? The messenger announced you as Greyhame.”

Olorin gave him a smile small. “They men of Gondor began calling me that about fifty years ago. I rather like it. It is more approachable sounding than Olorin or Mithrandir.” His eyebrows knit together like a bushy caterpillar. “Though not all of the Istari can be said to have been guided by the same principle. Curumo is calling himself Saruman now.”

“At least there is a difference in you name.” Maedhros retorted, struggling not to roll his eyes at Curumo’s lack of originality. A mischievous gleam came into his eyes. “I rather like the ‘elf’ you’ve included in it.”

To his astonishment, Olorin lightly cuffed the back of his head. “I didn’t chose it. Now come, there is no time to waste in idle conversation.”

There was little time for any conversation in the weeks that followed Olorin’s arrival. Ilmarien went out with what healers could be spared to gather athelas and other healing herbs while Olorin saw to the sick and, along with Maedhros, assisted Tarondor in the maintaining some form of governance over the city. Maedhros wrote message after message to Elrond and Galadriel asking them to send healers and what supplies they could; Galadriel sent wains laden with food, but Maedhros’ heart sunk when Elrond told him that the plague had already reached Eriador.

“At our current strength, we cannot guard our borders.” Tarondor stated during one of their daily council meetings. “We have few enough healthy soldiers to guard the city; I dare not send them to the borders.” He grimaced. “My only consolation is that this plague has struck Harad as well, and they have not the men to invade us. But Mordor-” Tarondor shuddered., “the guard posts were already undermanned. I fear they will have to be abandoned entirely. Should the orcs cross the mountains, we will have no way of repelling them.”

“It is blunt of me to say so, but if we cannot find a cure or even the source of this illness, there will be nothing left of Gondor for them to invade.” Ilmarien stated. She had returned grima-faced the night before from another search for herbs. The lands within a three day radius of the city had been scoured of athelas; what plants they did find were withered and sickly.

Olorin took out a long pipe and filled it with some sort of dried leaf before lighting it with a touch of his finger and sucking on the other end; Maedhros stared at the sight of Narya upon his finger before his mind turned to the question of where the Maia had learned this strange practice. Rings of a spicy scented smoke began to drift around the room. “The source is plain enough Lady Ilmarien.” he began, “Mordor. The plague spread from the east, did it not?”

Tarondor blanched. “The first reports came from the north, but then it came west.”

The door to the council chamber opened and a gaunt-faced runner hurried in, bowing before them. “Prince Tarondor, my lords and lady, I bring grave news. Prince Minardur, Prince Anardil, and Princess Inzilbeth have just died.”

Silence fell on the room so heavy that the dropping of a sheath of paper could be heard. Tears welled up in Ilmarien’s eyes. “Not the little one too?”

The runner nodded grimly. Tarondor seemed unable to speak, so Maedhros asked the question they needed to know. “Has the king been told?”

“No my lord. He is too far into the delirium of fever to know if any speak to him.” He turned to Tarondor. “My prince, I was also asked by the chief healer to tell you it will not be long.” Bowing once more, the runner left.

As soon as the doors shut once more, Tarondor began to weep. Olorin set a hand upon his shoulder to comfort him. “Give not into your grief Tarondor. You must prepare yourself; unlooked for it may be, with the death of your cousins, the throne of Gondor will come to you. The survival of the kingdom and your people depend on you.”

“We cannot stay here.” Tarondor answered, his voice hollow and broken. “The White Tree is dying and Osgiliath has become a tomb that we cannot defend. Those free of disease still within the city should retreat behind the walls of Minas Arnor.”

The council meeting ended shortly after that; Maedhros bid the other goodnight, struggling to contain his frustration. The Valar had tasked him to fight against Sauron’s evil, but more and more it felt as though he was fighting against a long defeat. So deep in his thoughts was he that Maedhros didn’t hear Ilmarien calling after him until she took hold of his arm. Gwileth stood at her side, the two of them sharing the same look of worry in their eyes.

“What is it? Didn’t you hear me calling?” Ilmarien asked him.

Maedhros looked away from her. “I am weary. What we have done here has accomplished nothing! The tree that Isildur risked his life to save from Sauron’s evil has died, the realm he and Anarion built on the brink of ruin.” His voice broke. “What chance is there for me to redeem myself if I cannot defend the Free Peoples from Sauron?”

All was quiet for a moment before Gwileth shoved her nose into his hand and Ilmarien wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. “Oh Russanadol, you take too much upon your shoulders. This is not your fight alone.”

“The people of Gondor will rebuild.” Gwileth added. “Their continued survival is the great insult and injury we could possibly pay to Sauron, and we have made sure that they will survive.” She licked his hand. “And who knows? All trees bear fruit; if Yavanna is willing, perhaps some secret sapling of the White Tree will grow one day.”

They fell back into silence after that. Gwileth looked to Ilmarien, who nodded at her, and then turned to go back to their quarters. Ilmarien guided them over to sit on a stone bench and rest her head on his shoulders.

“Part of me thought this task would be easier, since there was no oath or doom of Mandos to hinder it. Yet still I feel as successful in this fight as I did against Morgoth.”

Ilmarien looked up at the cloudy night sky. “For all that tease and jest about my brother, he does have moments of great wisdom. Occasionally.” She said with a half-hearted smirk. “He told me once that to fight against evil is akin to fighting against the wind; hard and wearying. You yourself have stated that. We have done all that we could do here Maedhros. That there are survivors at all speaks to the success against Sauron.”

Maedhros nodded, but uncertainty still lingered in his heart. King Telemnar died two days later and after a hasty coronation, the new King Tarondor ordered the retreat to Minas Arnor. Maedhros, Ilmarien, and Gwileth stayed long enough to see the move completed and the people settled before Olorin told them he had the matter in hand. It was a gray morning when they said they goodbyes at the great gates of the city. The sky was spitting out a persistent drizzle that threatened to soak even cloaks of elven-cloth.

“May you find a safe road wherever you go.” Olorin told them, patting Maedhros’ horse as he spoke. He looked up at the elf and added solemnly. “Even the wisest cannot see all ends. Cast away your misgivings and doubts and know that you did well here, son of Feanor.”

His throat tightened. “_Hannon le meld nin_. _Hannon le_.”

Olorin nodded. “If you are riding north, be on the lookout for Radagast- Aiwendil. Should you meet him, pass on my greetings.”

“Of course.” Maedhros turned to Ilmarien and Gwileth, giving them a nod that it was time to depart. They rode forward across the fields of the Pelennor, the empty husk of Osgiliath behind them.


	22. Of Happier Times and Cold Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maedhros gets the third degree from a certain elf king and the realm of Arthedain begins to crumble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all the sickness and death, this chapter is a good deal happier. I honestly hadn't planned on these events happening just yet, but it seemed like a natural place to put them once I started writing. And it is always fun to see Elrond embarrass himself a little.Enjoy guys and stay safe out there!

The Great Plague ravaged Middle-earth, decimating populations east and west of the Misty Mountains. It became common to pass for days without sight of another living soul in lands that had once been full of villages and farms. Despite this, the kingdom of Gondor survived. Tarondor re-established the kingdom from the new seat of Minas Arnor. But all was not the same in the three kingdoms of Eriador. Rhudaur had long since fallen to the shadow of Angmar, and with the ravages of the plague striking them hard, Cardolan had fallen to their raiders, its people reduced to little more than roaming bands of refugees. Only Arthedain stood strong, the last sentinel of Elendil’s realm. Three centuries passed and Maedhros watched as Men gradually rebuilt their strength. It was something he had always admired about them, this sheer stubbornness to survive. He saw it everywhere on his journeys and it gave him hope. Ilmarien accompanied him on many of these journeys and it was on a Midsummer’s Eve two hundred years after the Great Plague as they looked out over the plains of Calendardhon that they plighted their troth as Gwileth looked on, grinning. Time had made his welcome in the Golden Wood less cold, but Celeborn still treated him with a cool indifference, even after Ilmarien told Galadriel and he their news. They did not remain long. Maedhros could not help but wonder if Celeborn’s reaction was the reason why Ilmarien pushed for them to return to Imladris rather than ride north to Felegoth and her brother, and he told her as much as they camped one night.

“You know me too well.” She finally said, poking at the embers with a stick.

“I will not skulk and sneak about like a thief.” Maedhros replied. “Your brother may not approve of me, but he has not earned such mistreatment from either of us Ilmarien. He should hear our news from us.” He smirked. “Though I do not doubt that Celeborn will have already sent word.”

Ilmarien snorted. “Then I concede. I would not trust to a warm welcome from Thranduil though.”

Their welcome upon reaching the borders of Mirkwood at first seemed to prove her words false, but when they stood before Thranduil in the throne room of Felegoth, it only took a single look at the woodland king’s face for Maedhros to seriously question if it would not have been better to skulk and sneak about.

“Welcome sister. It is long since Felegoth has been graced with your beauty.” Thranduil embraced Ilmarien and then whispered so that only she and Maedhros could hear. “I would be speak with you now.” He turned to Maehdors, who spoke before the king could.

“If the king of the Woodland Realm would allow it, I would request private word, as I believe he may have heard tidings of twisted truth.”

Thranduil’s jaw tightened, but he nodded and led the two of them away from the court and to his private chambers. They stood in awkward silence for some time until Thranduil finally spoke. “Is this why you have not returned to your home for so long Ilmarien?”

Ilmarien glared at her brother. “All you need is a mirror to see the answer to that question Thranduil. Shall I fetch you one?” Maedhros set his hand on her arm, but she shrugged it off. “You’ve danced to Celeborn’s tune since father died; it would have been less surprising for a dwarf to declare a love for trees than to expect your blessing on us.” Her arms crossed before her. “Stare daggers at me brother, not Maedhros. It is him you have to thank for us even telling you in person.”

“And should I thank him for costing you the love of our people? That has naught to do with Celeborn!” Thranduil grimaced and looked away from them for a moment. His face seemed calmer when he turned back to them, but there was anguish in his voice when he spoke. “My friendship he might have, but he and his brothers killed our kin! Many are there among the Sindar who would consider it a betrayal if you were to join yourself to him.”

“Who are they?” Fury gave Ilmarien’s voice an edge like icy steel. “Maedhros sought and received the Valar’s pardon for the kinslayings! Do they consider their judgement superior to that of the very Powers of Arda?”

Maedhros set his hand more firmly upon her shoulder. “_Melda-nin_, your brother’s fears are not unfounded. Nor would I have you bear any cost-”

“Sister, I would speak with Maedhros alone.” Thranduil removed his crown of woodflowers and set it on a nearby table. Ilmarien opened her mouth to deliver a sharp refusal when he added “Please. I know that Legolas has missed his aunt. He would welcome sight of you.”

For a moment it seemed that Ilmarien would still refuse, but she nodded and turned to go, brushing Maedhros’ hand tenderly in passing. Once she had gone, Thranduil sat and motioned to the carven chair beside him. “Please sit.” He waited until Maedhros had before going on. “I speak to you not as a a king, but as one older brother to another,” he gave him a wry smile, “though you do not know what it is to have a sister.”

“No, but I’d imagine six younger brother, and two of them twins, comes close.”

Thranduil nodded in acknowledgment of the point. “I will speak of my fear then, for there is no way that I could stand before my father in Aman if it is so and I allowed Ilmarien to take this path anyway. Are you still under the Doom of Mandos?”

The question surprised Maedhros. In the centuries since he had returned to Middle-earth, he had given a thought to the Doom. “It is true that I may not return to Aman until the last ship of the Eldar sails west, but the Doom for me has been met. The Silmarils were reclaimed.”

“Save for one.”

Maedhros winced. “All I know is that Iluvatar granted His leave for me to return. Would He have done so if the oath were not fulfilled?” He met Thranduil’s eyes. “I would not bring the Doom down upon Ilmarien, but that is not my choice to make. It is hers. The only comfort I take and that I can offer is that I do not believe that will happen.”

Thranduil eyed him doubtfully. “Then why did they Valar send you back?”

“The Edain had a term for when one of them wronged another. _Wergild_. It was a payment for a wrongdoing. I brought much evil into this world when Beleriand was still above the seas. My task is my wergild.”

“I see.” Thranduil rose and Maedhros did the same. Turning to face him, the woodland king placed his hand over his heart in the Sindar’s gesture of friendship. “You are right; it is Ilmarien’s choice to make and she will make it. If this choice makes her happy, I will not hinder it.” His mouth twisted. “Though should you cause her pain, I swear to you it will be the last thing you do in Arda.”

Maedhros returned the gesture, relief and joy making him almost giddy. “Believe me, I would throw myself into a fiery chasm before that happened.”

They left Thranduil’s chambers and found Ilmarien, who nearly launched into another argument with her brother before she saw the grin on Maedhros’ face. The celebration of the betrothal was quiet, and if Ilmarien noted the glares and dark looks that several of the Sindar of the court gave her, she indicated it not. It was an altogether different matter upon their return to Imladris. At the feast held to celebrate, Elrond leaned over to him with a smirk.

“Normally a foster-father would be giving the son advice, but as I have more experience in such matters than you…”

Maedhros nearly choked on his wine and turned to Elrond, half shocked and half warning. “Stop. There are somethings one cannot un-hear Peredhel.”

“Well whatever it is has turned your face quite red.” Ilmarien said, draping her arm over Maedhros shoulder. “You haven’t drank so much yet that you can blame the wine.”

It was Elrond’s turn to choke as Celebrian added. “Do share the joke my love.”

As Elrond stammered and spluttered, Maedhros turned to Ilmarien and gestured for them to leave. Hand in hand, they made their way out of the Hall of Fire and out onto the east porch. Ilmarien laughed as he spun her in a circle.

“I never thought a single year would seem so long.” He told her as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

Ilmarien laughed. “True, but we’ll have till the end of Arda after that.”

As they sat together later, not quite ready to return to the merriment and noise of the feast, Maedhros stared up at Ëarendil’s ship. Ilmarien glanced up at him.

“What is it?”

He smiled sadly. “I am sorry we cannot marry according to the proper rites-”

Ilmarien placed a finger on his mouth to silence him. “The proper rites of who? The Noldor? The Sindar?” She kissed him, her lips tasting faintly of the currants used in the wine, “I would marry you with only Gwileth as witness.” She grinned. “But if Galadriel has any hand in it, then the rites will be fulfilled as best they can in our circumstances.”

Maedhros had to laugh at that. They took a little while longer to return to the feast, just in time to open the dancing. In that moment, it was easy to forget the ill winds blowing outside of the hidden valley. It was in the the late autumn of that year that those winds reached Imladris with the arrival of a rider from Arthedain. Elrond summoned Maedhros and Glorfindel, his face grave and pale as he held out the battered letter.

“The Witch-King has returned. Angmar has taken Fornost. King Arvedui and his followers are trapped in the ice-lands of Forochel.”


	23. Of the Fall of Angmar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Realm of Angmar falls, Maedhros has a vision, Glorfindel makes a prophecy, and there is a long expected party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long chapter this time! There just wasn't a natural split with everything I wanted to cover here, so I here you go :)  
I also wanted to leave one particular scene up to your imaginations- think it might be more fun that way ;)  
As always, your kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! Stay safe y'all!

If the cold of Forochel was even a tenth of what the Grinding Ice had been, then Maedhros cursed again what his father had forced his uncle’s host to endure. Hardier the Eldar might be, he wondered at how the men of the Lossoth were able to not only survive, but willingly live within the cold and ice. Aranarth, King Arvedui’s son, had managed to escape south, slipping past the forces of the Witch King to reach Círdan, who had sent a ship up to the ice bay to rescue the king and his followers. That had been four months ago, and still there had been neither sight nor report of the ship. Even with late winter seas, at the very least the Free Peoples should have received word of the king. Maedhros had ridden out from Imladris with a smaller force as Elrond amassed the larger army to join with that of Gondor when it came to drive Angmar back. Leaving the bulk of his force camped in the rills of Evendim, Maedhros went north with a small company to try to find King Arvedui by land. At the northern foothills they had come upon a party of Lossoth who brought them news that the tall king and his men had taken refuge further north. Now they made their way with their Lossoth guide through the pine forests and then onto barren ice fields. A week into their journey, Maedhros spotted the tell-tale plumes of smoke. It seemed miraculous; what on earth could possible burn in their world of ice and snow? But there it was, on the shores of the ice bay itself, a village dotted with the snow cave dwellings of the Lossoth. Icebergs filled the bay, but of Círdan’s ship, there was no sign. People filed out of their homes and gathered throughout the village as the company entered, openly staring or gawking outright at these tall pointy-eared strangers. Their guide led them to the largest of the dwellings where a man stood waiting, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The village headman, or so Maedhros guessed, was big, even for an Edain. Barrel-chested and having arms like tree trunks and a briar-thick black beard, Maedhros briefly considered if the man might not have some dwarfish blood in his lineage

“You are friends of the tall king?” the headsman asked in a voice so deep that it was almost a growl.

Maedhros bowed his head. “We are. My name is Maedhros.”

The headsman nodded. “I am Yorvic, son of Irvar.” He glanced at the crowd gathered around them. “Forgive my people; we have not seen many of the á_lfur _before.”

“It is no trouble. Forgive me, but we were told that King Arvedui took refuge with you.”

Yoric grimaced. “Come inside. They are not words that I would speak out here, nor is it our customs to keep guests out in the cold.”

It was so warm inside the the snow-cave that Maedhros soon shed his cloak and still felt sweat beading up on the back of his neck. Yorvic’s wife brought food and ale to them, serving her husband’s guests first before filling a carved horn for Yorvic. The headman didn’t speak until he had taken a drink from it.

“I will not hold back harsh words.” He began. “The tall king is dead.”

Grief struck Maedhros like the stroke of a sword. He set his tankard down to keep his suddenly shaking hands from spilling it. “How? When- his son’s message said Arvedui was still alive.”

Yorvic nodded. “It was the start of winter when the tall king and his warriors reached our village. They were in a wretched state, gaunt with hunger and weary from war with the Witch King. They’d gotten their strength back when the ship came.” He hesitated, as if the next part of the tale pained him. “Though the mountains protect us from his armies, the Witch King’s power can still reach us, especially in winter. I told the tall king that he should wait until spring to leave, for it is then that the Witch King’s reach is weakest, but the tall king would not hear of it. They day that they ship sailed, a storm blew in; my hunters saw the ship crash and break upon the ice at the head of the bay.”

Maedhros’ shoulders slumped as he held his head in his hands. It was silent for a while, save for the crackling of the fire. Yorvic cleared his throat after he thought enough time had passed.

“My sorrow for your sorrow.” Maedhros looked up to see Yorvic fish something out of his tunic. It had been more than an age seen last he had seen it, but there on a leather cord hung the Ring of Barahir, the emeralds of the snakes’ eyes glinting in the firelight. “Before he boarded the ship, the tall king gave me this ring in thanks for our shelter. Our people keep totems upon us for protection. If this ring was the tall king’s totem, then he was defenseless against the Witch King’s power without it. I would not keep it. It should go to his son.” Yorvic leaned forward and dropped the ring into Maedhros’ hands.

Weighed down by despair, a tiny spark of hope flickered to life as Maedhros took note of one who had not been mentioned in Yorvic’s tale. “What of Queen Firiel? Did she stay-” his voice trailed off as the headman shook his head.

It was in sorrow that Maedhros returned to his camp in Evendim, a sorrow made greater when he found Aranarth waiting for him and had to tell the new king that both of his parents were dead. But Aranarth refused to claim the kingship.

“A king must have a kingdom, and my father’s is no more.” He said grimly, holding up the Ring of Barahir. “Save for this and the shards of Narsil, all other heirlooms of my house are lost, for the palantiri were held by my father and now lie at the bottom of the ice.” Instead, Aranarth took up a different title. And so it was the Maedhros rode south with the first Chieftain of the Dunedain to join forces with Elrond, Glorfindel, Círdan, and King Earnil of Gondor.

Fog hung over the plains of Fornost despite the noon sun. Far in the distance lay the fortress itself, now the stronghold of the Witch King. It seemed to Maedhros that a shadow spread out from it, a shadow that would blot out the sun itself if it could. He turned from his survey of the field when a hand touched his shoulder; Ilmarien, dressed for battle with her hair coiled atop her head, stood at his side and smiled.

“It is a good plan. Our forces are strong enough to hold the line and Prince Eärnur is competent enough to pull off his part.”

Maedhros nodded. “I know. But why the Wit ch King has not drawn back into Fornost,” he grimaced, “Either he is overconfident or he has some weapon at his disposal that we know not of.”

“Overconfidence was his weakness in life. I doubt that’s changed.” Both turned as a trumpet called their forces to take up their positions. Maedhros kissed Ilmarien, both of them lingering as long as they could.

“Take care melda-nin.” He said. Ilmarien would be in command of their archers, whose task it would be to keep the enemy from flanking them. He and Elrond would lead the vanguard, while Glorfindel had joined Eärnur of Gondor.

“Only if you will.” She answered, squeezing his hand tightly in farewell. “I’ll see you when this is over.”

It was bloody work. Faced with an elf lords of Aman and the son of Eärendil, the first waves of orcs fled before Maedhros and Elrond, only to be cut down by Ilmarien’s archers and their own comrades. The hillmen of Angmar, however, had no such fear, and they charged wildly, screaming curses at the elves as they fought. Soon enough, the once green field was a morass of churned mud, blood, and gore. The elves’ line held against their onslaught, pushing the enemy back, almost to breaking it seemed. They rallied however, when a dark figure clad in black and wielding a great mace appeared on the field. Both Maedhros and Glorfindel looked to each other, their faces grim with resolve.

“Forward!” Maedhros bellowed, his sword blazing as it hewn an orc’s head from its body. “Do not give into fear!” He and Glorfindel hacked and slashed their way towards the Witch King. A troll charged towards them, a great axe raised to kill. Like a striking snake, Glorfindel lunged and slashed, his curved blade sweeping upwards, disemboweling the beast. The elves kept up their advance until the enemy began to fall back towards Fornost. It was then that far off to the north, a horn sounded. A cheer went up from the elves as Gondor’s calvary, with the prince and Elrond at its head, came down from the northern hills, cutting off the enemies retreat. Caught between the hammer of the calvary, the wall of archers lead by Ilmarien, and the anvil of the elvish forces, Angmar fell like wheat to a scythe. As the tide of battle thinned around him, Maedhros looked up to see a terrible sight. The Witch King had charged towards the prince of Gondor and Eärnur struggled to control his terrified horse; when it finally bucked him off and fled, the Witch King’s harsh laughter rang through the plains. Even unhorsed, the prince readied to make a stand against his enemy.

“Glorfindel!” Maedhros shouted, grabbing the reigns of a nearby horse. The two elf lords galloped towards the prince. They drew nearer, though the distance seemed to grow with ever hoofbeat. “Be gone slave of Sauron!” He bellowed.

See the two elf lords coming to aid his foe, the Witch King let out a scream that sent dagger of pain into Maedhros’ head; Eärnur let out a cry and covered his ears. Whirling on his mount, the Witch King galloped away from Fornost, the ragged remains of his army running after him.

:My lords, please, one of you lend me your horse!” Prince Eärnur had regained his feet and stood his one hand upon the reigns of Maedhros’ horse. “The Witch King is routed! If we pursue him now, we can break him utterly!”

As he watched the retreat, Maedhros’ vision blurred and shifted to a different battlefield. Far off in the distance stood the towers of Minas Anor. He watched as the Witch King faced a young warrior who stood over their fallen lord. Laughing, the warrior removed their helm, golden hair tumbling down their back. Glorfindel’s voice called Maedhros back to the present and the vision disappeared.

“Do not pursue him! He will not return to this land.” Glorfindel told Eärnur. “Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall.”

Maedhros set a hand on the prince’s shoulder to restrain him. “Lord Glorfindel speaks truly. The battle is won for now. Let us tend to the wounded and honor the dead.”

The death of Arvedui and the war with Angmar delayed the wedding beyond the traditional year of betrothal, though the fall of the Witch King’s realm seemed to all concerned to be auspicious enough to overlook tradition this time. And so it was on a bright late spring afternoon in the gardens of Imladris that Maedhros, son of Feänor, wed Ilmarien of the Woodland Realm. The business in the east that had kept him from aiding in the war done, Olorin arrived in Imladris just in time to preside over the ceremony. As he stood waiting for it to begin, fidgeting in the finery that Galadriel had made for him, Maedhros questioned once again if it had wise for he and Ilmarien to turn the preparations over to his cousin and Celebrian. Lantern glittered from nearly every tree bough, some even floating on the lily pads in the stream. He and Olorin stood underneath a bower of wisteria, the purple blossom heavy and hanging. A carpet of thick grass dotted with silvery white niphredil had been grown where the bride would walk. The entire garden seemed to glitter. His thoughts were cut short as Arwen and the other maidens of Imladris began to sing the bride’s song. Olorin smiled and Maedhros turned, his breath catching at the sight of Ilmarien walking towards him. Her hair was loose, falling down her back like a river of shinning silver underneath her bridal crown of violets and elanor flowers. Her gown was the soft purple of twilight, so light as to seem made out of mist. She was blushing when she reached him at the song’s end. Since neither of them had a parent there, it feel to Thranduil to stand in for Ilmarien’s mother and Galadriel for Maedhros’ family.

“I ask the family of the bride,” Olorin began, turning to Thranduil, “do you welcome the groom to your hall and hearth?”

Thranduil nodded, kissing his sister on her cheek before turning to Maedhros. “I do. As token, I gift the groom with another jewel, as he has my sister.” He present Maedhros with a intricately carved box, which he opened. Inside lay a great sapphire that had been set into a broth of silver that wrapped around the stone like antlers and leaves. As Maedhros stared, Thranduil leaned closer.

“It was our father’s. I could think of no better sign to those who speak against you that I have welcomed you to my kin.”

Maedhros had to blink back the tears that pricked in his eyes. “Thank you.”

Olorin cleared his throat and turned to Galadriel. “I asked the family of the groom, do you welcome the bride to your hall and hearth?”

Grinning at both Maedhros and Ilmarien, Galadriel nodded. “I do. As token, I gift the bride with this jewel. May it stand as symbol of the union of our kins.”

He had repeatedly asked Galadriel what jewel she meant to gift Ilmarien with, but his cousin had refused to reveal this to him. To Maedhros’ astonishment, Ilmarien opened the box that Galadriel present to her and took out the diamond and emerald pendant that he remembered Finrod making for his little sister long ago. His cousin helped Ilmarien put on the necklace before returning to her place next to Celebrian and Elrond. Once she was seated, Olorin took Maedhros’ left hand and entwined it with Ilmarien’s right, his own hands placed above and below them.

“I call upon Manwë and Varda, be witness unto the vows spoken here. Oh King of the High Airs, Lord of Far-sight, turn your face to those who have come to be joined. Oh Queen Beyond the Western Sea, Star-kindler and Lady of Light, let you gaze fall now upon those who have come to be united as one.” He turned to Maedhros, smiling to the point of grinning at the elf. “Maedhros, son of Feänor and the house of Finwë, do you freely wish to take this woman unto yourself as your wife?”

“_San nëa_. Let it be so.”

Olorin turned then to Ilmarien. “Ilmarien, daughter of Oropher and the house of Elwë, do you freely wish to take this man unto yourself as your husband?”

Ilmarien looked up at him and grinned. “_San nëa. _Let it be so.”

Lifting their hands into the air, Olorin raised his eyes to the sky above. “Here now their word Eru, All-father and Creator! Be now two as one, until the ending of Arda and beyond.”

The cheers and applause of their guests were deafening, but neither Maedhros or Ilmarien could hear it as they kissed and songbirds began to sing. The next morning, Maedhros lay in bed, watching his wife sleep. He reached over and brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen over her face. His touch woke Ilmarien, who blinked and then smiled. He leaned in and kissed her.

“Good morning wife.”

She grinned. “Good morning husband.” Ilmarien wriggled dapper under the linens. “Mmm, how long do you think we can remain abed before someone comes to fetch us?”

Maedhros laughed. “Let us find out.”

The afternoon came without either of them emerging from their room; when Erestor came bearing luncheon, he found their door guarded by Gwileth. “They’re busy.” She told the steward, sniffing the tray. “You can leave that here though. I’ll make sure they get it.”

Erestor nodded and set the tray down by the hound. When Maedhros opened the door sometime later, wrapped in naught but a sheet, all that remained of their meal was the salad of greens and some rolls; all that remained of the venison roast were a few stray traces of juice on the plate. Maedhros looked from the tray to Gwileth, who licked her paws as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“What, was the salad not to your taste?” He asked wryly.

Gwileth continued to clean her paws. “No, but you need it more than I do, considering what the two of you are up to.” He could practically hear the smirk in her voice, but Maedhros picked up the tray with as much dignity as he could before closing the door behind him.


End file.
